One Man And His Phone

q

2010-10-25T12:08:00.000Z

2009-07-07T17:43:00.002Z

Last Update: 16/06/2007 - Kinder Surprise(In Lonely Journeys)

Good day to you. This is Onemanandhisphone, a web site on the Internet. The Internet used to be a wonderful machine filled with porn and more specialised porn for exotic tastes, but now, like many things, it is falling down into a pit of misery and despair which will soon engulf what little is left of humanity. There's nothing I can do to stop it, and so, I have ignored the problem altogether and made this site, which is in no way the solution.

Throughout the site you will find my half-hearted attempt at becoming a millionaire, some short, short stories and scientific heresy, but mostly you will find photo-journals. Photo-journals will not save the Internet, but they certainly won't make it any worse. Not yet, anyway.

So go forth and witness the mundane events of my life that have been captured in a terrifying manner a Sony Ericsson K750i, a phone that almost always comes with a free Da Vinci Code audiobook saved on the memorystick, whether you like it or not.

All spelling mistakes are international.

Lonely Journeys

Fun Times

Links:

Contact Me:

Feel free to email me, Chin, occasionally known as Anthony Morcom at massivechin@hotmail.com
If you want to go the extra mile you can send me your own photo-journals, because at some point in my life I will put up a new section for other people's.

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Art

2008-03-19T16:16:00.002Z

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House

2007-08-08T14:06:00.000Z

I've decided to show you the house in the style of one of my hit photo-journals, but without the Orwellian metaphors and nightmares that are so common throughout my work.

Here is the front. It's ok, I guess. A front is a front.

This is what you see as soon as you enter. It's not really that dark, it's just my phone not doing good photoing. All of the carptets are going to be changed. Straight ahead is the dining room. Before that there is a door on the right which leads to the living room and on the left under the stairs is the basement door.

The dining room is really massive. Just look at it! That's even a massive table, but it looks like a small one, such is the massiveness of the room. You turn right to go into the kitchen.

You see a key. Do you pick it up? Of course you don't. There is no key. The only thing that is key is a nice kitchen to a well functioning household. It's a good kitchen.

In front of the kitchen is the double living area thing. It's quite big. We could have two tv areas, one for games and one for tv. The possibilities are endless (limited). Here are some suggestions:
1) A wanking pit
2) A pool table for wanking on
3) Rich's sewing area

The curtain won't always be closed, so it will be very bright. The carpet is to be replaced. Furniture will also be provided.

Upstairs!

This is the bathroom. The toilet is also in here, but I didn't do good photo action.

This is the first bedroom at the top of the stairs. It's very small, but workable. It has a wardrobe and bed in it. Whoever has it would have to have a single bed, which can't be me, because of the all of disgusting sex I'll be having everynight with all the sexy ladies and gents that I'll be inviting to my sexy night parties for ladies and gents. This room is probably the only problem we will face if we decide to take the house.

The next bedroom. It's quite big. That's a double bed and everything!

This bedroom is ridiculously huge. I couldn't even get it all in the photo. We'd have to take turns sleeping in it, because whoever was lucky enough to win it would be king of the house and envied by all until their dying breaths as I push the pillow down on their sleeping face, granting them eternal peace.

Finally, the attic room. It's quite strange, because the stairs are the strangest and steepest stairs I've ever seen. It's bigger than the smallest room and a bit smaller than the second bedroom. Given the choice, I'd probably want this one, because I've decided that I'm going to sleep on a dining chair from now on.

Finally, the best part of the house; the basement. It's very good and not scary like my last one. We could even use it as a bedroom if need be. Obviously it would be ideal for a gym, because it already has punching bags for us to punch all day. By my calculations, if we punched that bag (not Rach, Yes, ha, 1-0) an hour a day five days a week we would be very strong and well on our way to being tough men and woman.

There's a decent sized garden out the back which is half grass half patio, like curries that come with half rice and half chips. It gets a lot of sunlight.

The End.

My thoughts:

I really like it. Rach was medium to bad, so you'll have to see it. It's quite studenty, but it's being re-carpeted and stuff before anyone moves in. The location is excellent, just up the road that the YMCA is on the corner of. It would be excellent for parties, because it's very big and in town. If the small room was a dealbreaker I'd be willing to volunteer for it, because I like the house that much, but I'm not sure if all of you will. It'll be £45 a week each, which is excellent for all concerned.

However, while I was there, the letting agent told me about one on Gower rd which is coming up for rent and we're definitely going to get it. It's £55 a week, four bedrooms, massive and opposite the Black Boy, up a long drive and currently being lived in by an Ospreys player of some sort. We drove past it on the way home and it's suspiciously too brilliant for the likes of you and possibly me. I was supposed to see it tomorrrow, but it's been changed to Monday.

I think we'd have a better time living in the one in town, drinking in the Bryn Y Mor and Westbourne every night, doing lines of coke off strippers in the garden and wanking off celebrities in the basement, but the Gower rd one is probably going to be too good to turn down.

The most important thing is full time jobs. To get the killay one the woman stressed that we need to all be working full time. I stretched the truth and said that we all are, which in a way is true, because life is hardwork in today's society of ipods and the war on terror. It'll be available from the 17th of August. Technically I'm working full time now according to the jobcentre, so me and Libby could pose as a soon to be married couple if we don't all have jobs yet. Rich could be our loveable disabled son and Ev can be my uncle's son in law.

Onemanandhisphone Presents

2007-06-19T21:35:00.071Z

Batteries Feel Included:
396 Tragic Tales of Life, Misery and Failure.

1)

“Are you going to come or what?”

“I don’t know” I said “It sounds pretty stupid”.

“If you think it’s stupid, then you’re stupid” he said. His argument was weak, but he was enthusiastic. He hadn’t been this excited about anything since Cathy left. So I agreed. And that’s it, that’s how I came to be sitting here now, handcuffed to my dead best friend on a one way trip to the centre of the Earth. The things I do for my friends.

Eddie, New York.

Themes: Friendship, Adventure, Earth's Core

2)

I used to work in a piercing parlour. That’s no lie. One time, a blonde girl came in; this wasn’t unusual in itself, because it was a very popular hair colour at the time. She was kind of pretty, I guess, but when you looked into her eyes you could tell that there was nothing going on in her head.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, assuming that she was just going to get her ears done. She didn’t seem the type to get anything weird or exotic.

“I’d like to get my soul pierced, please.” she said. I smiled.

“Um, we don’t do that kind of thing, I’m afraid.” She looked puzzled.

“You pierce stuff here, right?”

“Yes” I replied “we do”.

“Then I’d like you to pierce my soul. I can go somewhere else if you can’t”. I was working on commission at the time, so I thought I’d humour her. I picked up the gun and began making buzzing noises around her head.

“There you go. All done” I told her.

“Please don’t patronise me, Alex” she said looking at my name tag “I’ve come to get my soul pierced, not to look like an idiot. Can you do it or not?”

“One minute”. I ran upstairs to my boss’s office. The door was open, so I didn’t bother knocking. The smell of vodka and sweat hit me as soon as I stepped in. “There’s a girl downstairs, wants to get her soul pierced. I think she might be mental.”

“Blindfold her and bring her to me” he said.

“What?”

“Go downstairs, put a blindfold on her and bring her here.” I did as he said. The girl didn’t even ask why I was blindfolding her. I sat her down on a red swivel chair in the middle of the office.

“First time?” my boss asked her.

“No.”

“Then you know what to expect?”

“Yes” she said. She sounded nervous. My boss closed the curtains and walked over to the filing cabinet. He pulled out a key that looked like it was made of lots of tiny bones. It seemed a little theatrical. He opened the drawer and pulled out the strangest thing I have ever seen. I can’t even begin to describe it, so I won’t.

“Hold her down” he said.

“What?”

“Do I have to tell you everything twice?” I stood behind her and grabbed her arms tightly.

“What are you? An idiot? From the front, from the front!” he yelled. I swung the chair around so that she was facing me. I could smell her breath. She was drunk too. My boss walked up behind her and began chanting something in what I thought was Latin, which surprised me, because I was pretty sure that he couldn’t speak Latin. He held the thing that he took out of the filing cabinet above her head and plunged it downwards, stopping an inch away from her skull. She flinched. He twisted it. She screamed. He twisted it again. She began to shake. My boss started the whole thing again and her screams got louder. I didn’t know if they were screams of pain or ecstasy. He repeated the procedure over and over for what must have been ten minutes. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The screams were becoming deafening. “Take off the blindfold. Take it off” he shrieked.

I looked up at him, but it was like looking at an x-ray through heavy rain. The whole room was spinning. The only thing in focus was the object that my boss was twisting into the air above the screaming blonde girl’s head. I undid the blindfold and looked into her eyes. For as long as I live I’ll never forget what I saw. Where once was nothing, now was everything. I saw war, I saw famine, I saw the first flowers of spring, I saw universes come and go, I saw The Beatles, I saw the first man on Mars, I saw the last man on Earth, I saw the garden of Eden covered in snow, I saw laughter, I saw unpaid taxes, I saw Hell freezing over, I saw Heaven turned to dust, I saw the first series of Big Brother, I saw Jesus throwing dice, but there was one thing that I didn’t see; me.

The room stopped spinning and the screaming turned to silence. The girl got up, gave me fifty quid and walked back down the stairs. She seemed happy enough. I handed in my notice at the end of the day, went straight home and had a drink. And I’ve been drinking ever since.

Alex, Kent.

Themes: The Soul, Body-Piercing, Alcohol .

3)

People complain that a dog is for life, not just for Christmas, but when you create a dog that’s born on Christmas day and then grows and dies by New Years Eve you’re branded a monster.

Anonymous, London.

Themes: Genetic Engineering, Christmas, Failed Businesses.

4)

As he rounded the corner they began to cheer his name. “Rover, Rover, Rover the Wonder Horse”. That’s right, he was a horse with a dog’s name, but having the name of the dog wasn’t the only special thing about this horse; this horse had just single handedly won the FA for Man Utd.

Lucy, Stoke-On-Trent.

Themes: Horses, Names, Football.

5)

I had wanted it so much. I’d worked so hard for it. When I finally did it I broke down in tears. My troubles were over; I’d be rich, famous and more powerful than any fairly well known celebrity. I’d finally made the pen move using only my mind. I was a god. Then it dawned on me, I’d wanted it so much, I needed so badly to move that pen with my mind that I’d used my hand.

David, Colchester.

Themes: Telekenisis, Desperation, Pens

6)

Sometimes I quite like the idea of being a bird. Not because they can fly. Everyone seems to want to be a bird, just because they can fly, but I doubt I’d use my wings at all, really. It’s more of a lifestyle choice, I think. It’s good to have a dream.

Henry, Chepstow.

Themes: Dreams, Flight, Lifestyle

7)

In 1989 my brother had his first orgasm. I wasn’t there, but he told me all about it afterwards. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen and even after it did happen he wasn’t sure that that he’d done it right.

“So who’s the woman?” he asked.

“What woman?”

“The woman that you see when you cum. She’s pretty. I don’t think I’ve seen her before.” I had no idea what he was talking about. I told him that sometimes I'd picture women whilst I was doing it to speed things up or get going, but it was mostly women I already know or had seen on tv.

A couple of weeks later he had another orgasm. He waited this long, because he’d heard a strange rumour that wanking makes you go blind. I’m not sure who started that, but it’s a theory filled with holes and inconsistencies. Anyway, he told me that when he climaxed he saw the woman again, but her face wasn’t as clear this time. I told him that he should stop telling me about his masturbatory adventures, because it was weird. He didn’t stop though, and the stories started becoming more and more frequent.

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen” he’d say “But her face is becoming foggier every time”. Sometimes he said that he thought she was trying to say something, but she’d disappear as soon as she opened her mouth. By 1991 he was wanking fourteen or fifteen times a day. He could only see her face when he came and the face was so distorted now that it was like trying to read a newspaper through muddy glass from a mile away, but he still had the memory of the first time. He couldn’t picture the face, but he knew that it was the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

In 1993 my brother lost his virginity. I was away at college at the time, so he sent me a letter. It went into a lot of detail. The letter said that when he reached the orgasm he saw the face again and it was as clear as the first time, maybe even clearer, but the woman was crying. Tears were falling down her perfect face and she was in pain. My brother never had sex again.

During his next few self-inflicted orgasms her face was as vivid as it was back in 89 and he began to hear a heavenly whisper. He was sure that she was calling his name. He dropped out of school and started wanking all day every day. Within a month the face was lost behind the muddy glass again and the whisper was nothing but a dull echo. Eventually my parents took him to see the doctor. The doctor had terrible news. My brother had wanked so often, that if he stopped, he would die. I’m not sure what the science behind it was, but that man had been our doctor since the 70s. We trusted him.

So they took my brother home, put him on a drip and let him carry on searching for the face or an answer. By 1995 he was down to 6 stone and hadn’t left his bed in over nine months. We called in a specialist and he said that it would probably be for the best if we tied his hands and let him go peacefully. He said that he wouldn’t last another year anyway. My dad said that he couldn’t allow it, but my mother said that she couldn’t bear to watch her son destroy himself anymore. They divorced two weeks later and my dad had my brother put into a special care facility.

In June 1996 my brother finally wanked himself to death.

Steve, London.

Themes: Masturbation, Addiction, Wasted Lives

8)

I laughed the first time he said it. I became concerned when he said it again.

“Seriously, mate, how much is that doggy in the window?”

I’m no stranger to practical jokes and shenanigans, I’ve seen my fair share of Beadle’s About after all, but I didn’t get this one. This was a stationery shop, we sold pens and paper and stuff. It was a stationery shop when my father ran it before me, and it was a stationery shop when his father ran it before him. Neither of them had ever sold dogs in here before, as far as I know. Maybe a stray had wandered in off the street and settled down in the middle of our ink cartridge display. I got up from behind the counter and headed down to the front of the shop and there it was, plain as day, a dog in the window, trapped inside the glass.

It wasn’t quite 2D and it wasn’t quite 3D. I wasn’t quite sure what it was. I ran my hand along the glass where its stomach was and it seemed to like it. I told the man that it wasn’t for sale, because it had been in the family for generations. I’m not sure why I lied. I closed the shop and phoned the police. They said that I should call the RSPCA. A man arrived half an hour later and he was as astonished as I was.

“I guess we’ll have to cut the glass out, will we?” I said.

“Can’t do that. Might kill the dog.” He said in a strong Bristolian accent.

“So you’ve seen this kind of thing before then?” I asked.

“No, but if you ask me, this dog in the window is like a fish in the water, isn’t it? If you take away the water then the fish will die, won’t it?”

“So I’m stuck with a dog in my window?”

“I guess so, yes”. My mind was working overtime. Was this a good situation or a bad one? What if I charged people to come and see the magical dog in the window? I’d be a millionaire, wouldn’t I? People don’t want pens and paper nowadays, anyway, what with all the computers. A living dog trapped inside glass was a money-maker. I was sure of that much.

“Of course you’ll have to seal off the whole area, mind. Nobody coming near the window, kids and that banging on the glass, send a dog to an early grave with nerves that would.”

There went my plan.

“Might even have to close the whole shop. Hand it over to science and whatnot. I’d say the government’ll be wanting to have a look at this”.

And that’s how it went. By the end of the day the shop which had been in my family for three generations was seized in the name of animal welfare. Bloody dog.

Keith, Leeds.

Themes: Dogs, Windows, Small Businesses

9)

For fourteen years I was a professor of biochemistry at the University of San Diego. Ten years ago I caught my wife having sex with my best friend. We split a week later and I sought the help of a therapist. When my colleagues at work found out about me seeing a therapist they teased me. Scientists can be so very cruel. Eventually the head of my department found out and he called me into his office. He hadn’t called me into his office since 1984 when he wanted to show me a sketch of naked woman he’d been drawing that morning. It was very good. He fired me on the spot. It seems that when a man seeks the help of a therapist he isn’t in complete control of his mind and he becomes a danger to the scientific community. Once you’ve been given the “mad scientist” tag it’s pretty hard to find work. In the past few years, from home, I’ve cured almost all forms of cancer and found a way to turn radio waves into protein, but nobody wants to know when you’re not much more than the guy on the Weetos box.

Prof. Johnson, San Diego.

Themes: Madness, Science, Unemployment

10)

You’re quite right, neither of my arms are broken, or even injured, but I am indeed wearing both of them in slings. Just think of the energy I’ll save between now and the time I die! All of that unnecessary arm carrying is, well, unnecessary. I wouldn’t be surprised if I use all of this saved energy to become king of Asia one day. A couple of weeks ago I approached a guy walking with two crutches. I accused him of stealing my idea. It turned out that he had shattered his spine in a car accident which took the lives of both his wife and only child. Boy, was my face red.

Barry, London.

Themes: Energy-Saving, Arms, Asia

11)

He plunged the knife into what he thought was my heart. Luckily for me, he went for his left instead of mine, and the knife went harmlessly into my lung. Thank the Lord I always carry a spare. I decided to leave the blade where it was, because he was less likely to stab me again if he didn’t have the knife. The paramedics arrived half an hour later. All in all it was one of our worst Christmases, but I stand by what I said; Only Fools and Horses just isn’t funny.

Joel, Surrey.

Themes: Christmas, Stabbing, Family

12)

"Lady, I can see through your lies like a cheap window."
"But it's the truth, I swear it is. I swear on my children's lives."
"For all I know you could be one of those people who swears on the lives of their children knowing that their false swearing isn't actually going to cause any harm, and so you do it anyway not caring that it'll make you look like a bad person and a hell of a lot worse mother. You know what I'm saying?" She didn't.
"Ok" I said. "I'll take the case, but it's gonna cost ya; One million dollars"
As she stormed out of my office I looked down at my hands. Were these really the hands of the best detective in town? I'd been in New York for six months and hadn't picked up a single case. Maybe it was because my million dollar fee was too much for Old Average Joe on the street. All I know is that eventually some rich fool is gonna come along and be stupid enough and desperate enough to pay me my million dollars and I'll never have to work again. Patience, that's all you need in this game, patience.

Mickey, New York.

Themes: Detectives, Million Dollars, Unemployment

13)

Yeah, I was the last man on Earth once. I can't say I got a lot done. I should have been going from house to house, trying on people's clothes and rummaging through their drawers. Instead I just watched all of my Friends boxsets and the first season of Stargate SG1 until the battery ran out on my laptop.

Richard, Chester.

Themes: Last Man on Earth, Wasted Opportunities, What Happens When We Run Out of Energy

14)

I always get John Voight and Dennis Hopper mixed up. I wonder how much of an effect this has had on my life. Probably none, maybe lots, but I guess I'll never know. Maybe I'd be an astronaut right now, or at least a doctor. If only I could invent a John Voight Dennis Hopper Life Prediction Machine. Then I'd know.

Carl, Leicester.

Themes: Mistaken Identity, John Voight - Dennis Hopper, Life Changing Events

15)

I used to go to school with a guy who could put so much backspin on the cueball when he played pool that it made the table go back in time. All of the balls would just go straight back in the pockets. It didn't help him win, that's not how pool works. In fact, he wasn't very good at pool at all. It was an ok party trick though. I always thought his life would have made a great Buffy or Smallville type show. He could have just wandered around for thirty nine minutes crying about cheerleaders, weeping about the prom and sulking about the quarterback bully who actually turns out to be a nice guy in the end. Then in the fourtieth minute someone would challenge him to a game of pool and he'd make the table go back in time.

Mark, Chicago.

Themes: Time Travel, Childhood Friends, Teenage Drama.

16)

My last boyfriend always used to pull out at the last minute when we had sex so that he could ejaculate over a piece of art, statues, that kind of thing. I asked him why he did it and he said it made them more beautiful. When I asked him why he didn't do it on me he said I was beautiful enough. I'm not so sure, I think he just liked cumming on paintings.

Lisa, Chepstow.

Themes: Ejaculation, Ex-Boyfriends, Art.

17)

If there ever existed a man so tall that his hands could clutch the moon, he would surely die of a broken heart. How could anyone love such a beast?

Carl, Manchester.

Themes: Giants, Heartbreak, The Moon.

18)

"If I told you that I love you more than any man has ever loved any woman would you marry me?"
"No."
"If I promised to care for you until my dying breath, giving everything you could ever need, would you marry me then?"
"No."
"If built a rocket, flew it to the moon, tunnelled to its core and filled it with enough dynamite to blow that wretched orb to Kingdom Come, would you marry me then?"
"If you did that? Yes. I probably would"
I feel kind of bad. He didn't know the first thing about surviving in space. Even if he'd got to the moon and managed to come back alive, I doubt I would have married him anyway.

Sophie, London.

Themes: False Promises, The Moon, Proposals.

19)

When Frankie released "Fuck You Right Back" in response to Eamon's number one hit "Fuck It", I warned people that there would come a time when mankind would only communicate through song and not in a loveable Disney kind of way, people would literally record the music and publish it in the hope that the intended recipient would turn on their radio at the right moment to hear it and then book time in the studio to construct their response. People laughed at me. One of them even went as far as divorcing me. She said that wasn't the reason, but what else could there be? I predicted that every person in the world would have a section in HMV devoted to their name. They'd go in once or twice a week, check their pigeon hole and find a pile of conversations ready for their listening. I'll admit that I was a little off with that one, but then Myspace came out and the rest is history.

Ian, Gloucester.

Themes: Conversation, Music, Myspace.

20)

I'm no doctor or mathematician. Yes, I have a phd, but that only came about after a series of elaborate coincidences and accidents, each one more elaborate and accidental than the last. It seems to me that there are a lot of people in the world, and, by the looks of it, many more are on the way. The way I see it, it's only a matter of time before the same people start being born again. How many different people can there be with the limited amound of DNA we have? Ten? Twelve billion? Knowing his luck, Jesus will be the first duplicate to get noticed and people will be all like "Hey, look, it's Jesus. It's the second coming! Let's make him our leader!", but I'll be all like "Hey, wait a minute, there's four Bruce Willises over there. Why not make one of him our leader?" And you know what? They'll have to consider it, because there are a lot more people can relate to being held hostage by terrorists in the Nakatomi Plaza with no shoes on than there are people who can relate to the bible and that whole scene nowadays, especially with this war of terror I keep hearing so much about.

Patrick, Dublin.

Themes: DNA, Bruce Willis, Second Coming.

21)

They say there's no such thing as an international friendly, but I've seen them. By Christ I've seen them.

Charles, Portsmouth.

Themes: International Sports Matches, Eye Witnesses, Common Misconceptions.

22)

My little finger has the strength of ten men, but to gain such a finger I had to give up my thumbs. Will history look upon my actions as a brilliant gamble or will I be forgotten like so many thumbless heroes before me?

Derek, Charlton.

Themes: Fingers, Sacrifice, Places in History.

23)

I used to go to school with a boy who believed that Hot In Here by Nelly was the greatest song ever made. Nobody gave it much thought at the time, because mainstream hip hop had become popular with both white and black people from all backgrounds, but the more I think about it now, the more I think that he must have been a complete lunatic.

Richard, London.

Themes: Nelly, Childhood Friends, Best Songs of All Time.

24)

Realistically, the only way I could meet my future wife is by bumping into her in a quiet corridor with all my might. I'd be have to make sure that I knocked the pile of papers out of her hands. Then I'd have to get down on my knees to help her pick them up like the kind gentleman that I am. The papers would have to be a complete list of her likes and dislikes, her favourite films, songs and books. I'd have just a split second to scan over them as we both fumbled in the most awkward of situations and I'd have just a second more to compare everything that my eyes could see with my own pre-recorded preferences in my head. If they matched, we could take the relationship further, go for coffee and finally settle down together in a quiet little village somewhere on the outskirts of Leeds with the occasional summer in the south of France. I'm no fool, I know that I'm going to have to bump into a lot of women before I find one who carries an A4 sized summarry of her interests and life and even more before I bump into one with who is a complete match. I just pray I don't get arrested first.

Colin, Glasgow.

Themes: Meeting the Right Woman, Interests, Corridor Mishaps.

25)

I went to school with a guy who once burped so loudly that it created a black hole. He wasn't one to panic and he was probably the smartest guy in the class, so he quickly opened his mouth and swallowed it straight back down. It's stayed there ever since. The real tragedy is that he can never drink a fizzy drink again for fear of destroying all creation. No Coke, no Pepsi, no Tango, not even beer. He says it doesn't bother him, but I know it does.

Tim, UK.

Themes: Black Holes, Soft Drinks, Childhood Friends.

26)

When I was a kid I used to love playing computer games, mostly role playing games. It was fun becoming completely absorbed in a virtual world where I could do magic and chop the head off a goblin. As I got older I started feeling guilty whenever I'd play on my playstation, because I should have been living my life in real life like a real person, so eventually I ended up just playing sports games where you didn't have to escape into a whole new universe and could just play for ten minutes at a time. A couple of years ago I was playing Pro Evo 4 and my house got struck by lightning. As it happened I sneezed and coughed at the same time as the electricity shot up through the controller. God knows how it happened, but I ended up getting sucked into the game. There I was, standing in the middle of the boggy green pitch wearing a bright yellow t-shirt. I was the bloody referee. I couldn't believe it. I've been here ever since. The worst thing is that I only exist when someone is playing on the game, and to make sure that they keep coming back I have to get every decision right. The artificial linesmen do most of the work, but everytime someone gets tackled from behind and I haven't got a very good view I'm filled with sould consuming dread. If I end up sending someone off when he got the ball fairly whoever's playing will think the disc's broken and might throw it in a fire. I wonder if the referee's living in my house.

Peter, Pro Evo 4.

Themes: Computer Games, Effects of Lightning, Existential Crisis.

27)

There was a boy in my class at school who was famed for not having a tv. We'd talk about tv programmes and stuff and he didn't have a clue what we were talking about. Nobody could believe it. Everyone thought he must have been really poor, so nobody questioned him about. Just before we started Year 10 he invited me over to his house. He wasn't poor at all. His house was massive. He took me into the living room and what I saw turned my world upside down. He had the biggest tv I had ever seen. It was like size of a cow. "I thought you didn't have a tv" I said.
"No" he said "Everyone thinks that, I just don't watch tv". I asked him why and he said that there were too many channels and programmes to choose from and it wasn't fair on the ones he couldn't watch. He made me a glass of lemonade and we sat down on the sofa.
"So what do you do instead then?" I asked.
"I just sit here and think about what might be on" he said. So there we sat for the next three hours staring at the black screen. Every time I tried talking to him he told me to be quiet, because I was distracting him from his thinking. Every half hour or so he would say a few words when he imagined that the adverts were on, but mostly we sat in silence. When it came time to leave I asked him what he had imagined was on tv that evening he described a film which had the exact plot of Speed 2: Cruise Control and he'd never even seen it!

Martin, Denmark.

Themes: Childhood Friends, TV, Wasted Lives.

28)

People often stop me on the street and ask me who would win in a fight between Mohammed Ali and a tiger. It's a stupid question. Do they mean Mohammed Ali now or when he was in his prime?

Pedro, Rome.

Themes: Battles, Mohammed Ali, Tigers.

29)

I heard a rumour a while back that the Chinese government were trying to raise awareness for Global Warming! by getting every person in China to jump in the air at the same time. They were all set for for the stunt, but had to abandon it at the last minute, because some man of science had presented the prime minister of China with some crazed findings in the eleventh hour. He said that there was a one in forty four billion chance that when all of China was in the air something might go wrong with the gravity and none of them would ever come back down. The entire Chinese race would just float out of Earth's atmosphere and most likely die, unless something went wrong with outer space causing it to become a liveable habitat, which he calculated at a one in forty five billion chance. The prime minister said he couldn't take such a gamble, even if the odds were so high, because if something had gone wrong and every man, woman and child in China disappeared from the planet in a publicity stunt gone mad, it would have completely shattered the economy.

Anthony, Brighton.

Themes: Gravity, Publicity Stunts, Asia.

30)

I'd only met the genie once, but he was really keen on granting me three wishes. You don't meet people like that very often, especially at the gym. I know what you're thinking, gay, gay, gay, but he really wasn't. My life was lacking a certain drama at the time and I wanted it to be like in the movies, so I asked him to change my life into black and white. Yes, I know it was a really pretentious thing to do, but I didn't want to be boring like all those people who wish for money or tentacles. I tried it out for a week, but my life seemed as meaningless as ever. So the next time I saw him at the at the gym I asked him to give me subtitles. "Right, this is it!" I thought. There was no way that my life was going to be mundane anymore, not if it was in black and white and had subtitles like all those foreign films you get sometimes. So I did what I thought I was supposed to do on my third wish, thinking that I was sorted, and set the genie free. Boy, did I make a big mistake. My wife found out about the genie the next week and got really mad at me for "wasting" my three wishes and she left me. Finally my life had some drama, real hard hitting stuff, all I needed when she left me in the park was for it to start raining, and it did! It really did. I was in drama heaven. Then, ater she left, I couldn't keep up with the mortgage repayments and my house got reposessed. I really should have wished for the money.

Tom, SW19.

Themes, Genies, The Search For A Better Life, Mortgage Repayments.

31)

The main problem with time travel was that by 2049 it had become so cheap, even the average man on the street could afford it and the average man on the street didn't know the first thing about travelling through time. Everyday millions of people would try to get to work earlier by travelling to the the future, which didn't even make any sense. I guess they thought that by jumping to an a hour ahead they'd already be in work. So, during the rush hour, time travel jams became so congested that the people who were moving through time were going so slowly that they ended up coming out in the past, which meant they were early for work, even though they'd been stuck in traffic for hours. They didn't realise what the were doing, all they cared about was that they were getting to work on time. Little did they know that they were still ageing normally when they were travelling back in time, so by what they thought was their 40th birthday, they were already 55.

Chris, Harrow.

Themes: Time Travel, Wasted Lives, Misunderstandings.

32)

I had a scheme once. I would have made millions from it too if it wasn't for all those things that went against me. I set up a business which would fly you to Vietnam, take you on a tour of all the sites, put you up in a nice hotel for the night and just as you're about to leave one of our trained cutters would cut your face with a knife, so that when you got back home you could tell your friends you got your scar in Nam. I thought it would be really popular amongst idiots students, and at first it was. Sadly by 2012 the idiot students had started to try to lose the stigma of being a bunch of idiots. I was quick to react and cut costs wherever possible. I got rid of the hotel and the site seeing tour, so for two hundred bucks you'd get flown out the Vietnam, cut at the airport and flown straight back. It was never the same after that.

Hank, Texas.

Themes: Failed Businesses, Vietnam, Scars.

33)

Time travel is a tricky fish, but I'm of the belief that you cannot change the past, otherwise the thing that you were going to do would have already happened. So, one year, as a joke, knowing that it wouldn't change a thing, I went back to 1979 and found my future wife playing in a park. I snuck up behind her, grabbed her by the hand, pulled out my pliers and chopped off her little finger. Sure enough, when I got back to the present my wife still had all of her fingers. Sometimes I wonder if I got the wrong girl, but I'm pretty sure it was her.

Richard, Stafford.

Themes: Time Travel, The Loss of a Finger, Practical Jokes.

34)

I always dreamed of being a struggling writer. I'd write and I'd write and I'd know what I was writing was good, and that's what would frustrate me. I just wouldn't be able to catch a break. My wife would eventually lose faith in me and tell me to get a real job and everynight I'd worry about bills and my worth to the world as a human being. Curse my luck though! My first book was so good it sold a million copies.

Stephen, L.A.

Themes: Dreams, Authors, Million Copies.

35)

I was fed up with people going on about the Big Bang and the dawn of time. I just didn't get it. It must have been one of those "you had to be there" things. So I dusted off the old flux capacitor and went and had a look. Don't get me wrong, it was good, but it was nothing special. It must have been pretty mindblowing at the time given the technology they had, but it was a bit like going to see Jason and the Argonauts right after watching The Matrix.

Arnold, Kiev.

Themes: Time Travel, Dawn of Time, Hype.

36)

When I was a boy, going to Margate for the weekend was the best holiday you could hope for. Then people started going to Spain all the time. I never went there, but I know a lot of people who did. As air travel started becoming more affordable even the poorest of the poor were holidaying in New York City, Los Angeles Town and Florida Upon America. It wasn't long before people got fed up of all that and started going to places like Thailand and Vietnam to find themselves or explore themselves or whatever they call it. The world had become too small, like an acorn or something. I thought it was only a matter of time before people started travelling to the deepest parts of the ocean. By Christ I was wrong about that one. I needed to get in on the whole travelling scene. There was money to be made and if anyone should have been making it, it should have been me. I hadn't even been to Spain, for Christ's sake!

I thought the best place I could get people to explore themselves was inside their own bodies. "Forget Chile!" I said. "I can shrink you down, put you in a pill and put you inside yourself for two weeks of soul searching and bowel perching." That was my slogan. People couldn't understand how I could shrink them down and put them inside their own bodies, so they automatically thought it was a scam. It wasn't even that complicated, but people are idiots. So I came up with another venture; explore someone else. I'd shrink them down, put them in a pill and they could explore their friends, family or even a celebrity. That didn't last long. After the first wave of law suits I was losing £5000 on every customer. Shrinking was an expensive procedure, so I came up with another plan, one where the costs were low; parallel universes. "How much can you really know about yourself if you've never travelled to a parallel universe and lived the life of your parallel self?" I'd cry. A parallel universe, for crying out loud! It made Disneyland look like a big shit.

It was a very good idea. I didn't even know how to send anyone to a parallel universe. I'd just bring them into my office and explain that there was every chance that when they got to the other universe everything would be almost exactly the same. I'd knock them out with some futuristic looking drug gun and when they awoke in my office I'd be wearing a fake beard. I'd tell them that our universes were so alike that their other self had come and booked the parallel holiday at the exact same time, so their friends and families probably wouldn't even notice the difference. So for two weeks they'd carry on going to work as normal thinking that they were on holiday in another dimension and then come back to my office. Then I'd knock them out again, take off my beard and when they awoke I'd charge them £45,000. It was very popular amongst rich gap year students. The best part is that sometimes I'd get whole families doing it and that would be their holiday for the year, living their normal bloody life. The suckers.

Phil, Newcastle.

Themes: Holidays, Finding Yourself, Parallel Universes.

37)

Every night for the past four years I've done something a bit strange. I go to bed at 11pm like clockwork, which isn't the strange part, because quite a lot of people are doing it these days. Once I'm in my bed I lay on my back and do something in my mind for exactly one hour. I rehearse for Jonathan Ross. You know, the long haired chat show man? I'm not a celebrity, I'm not plugging anything and there's no real reason why I'd ever be called upon for an interview, but it's always wise to be prepared. Over the years I've thought up every possible question he could ask me or any situation he could put me in. Believe me, it's no easy feat. It isn't like rehearsing for poor old predictale Parkie. He could be asking me about work one minute and asking me to rub fish oil into his penis the next. That's why I need to be prepared, you just don't know what you're going to get with Ross.

Andrew, Hereford.

Themes: Chat Shows, Obsession, Jonathan Ross.

38)

I was always very good at football. As the years went on I got better and better. I had trials with Leeds when I was 14, and was playing regularly for the reserves by the time I was 15. I was spotted by a Uninted scout when I was 16 and joined their youth academy. Every day I got better and better. The press were calling me the new Pele, which I've been told is quite an honour. I worked hard everyday and was moving closer and closer to my first team debut not long after my 18th birthday. I made the bench a couple of times at the start of the 08/09 season, but Fergie didn't want to risk using me yet, even though I was getting better by the minute in training. Then finally, the day before a Carling Cup game against Preston, I put in a performance in training that was so good that it made Gary Neville cry. He was in a right state. The gaffa had to take note and had no choice but to start me against Preston. There I was at Old Trafford having a kick about during the warm up and I couldn't believe how good I had become, every touch was better than the last, every pass was like a firework in a bird's nest. The few fans who had turned up really early were speechless. Andy Gray said just before the kickoff that he would get "Cunt" tattooed on his face if I didn't score close to forty goals, I was that good.

The whistle blew to start the game, the ball came to me in the air and I brought it down with my left foot. The crowd went wild. They'd never seen such a good touch. I started to run at the goal, went past one player, two, three, four and then it happened. I became so good, I was bad. I'd heard of things being so bad that they were good, like films which become funny when they're really bad, but it was nothing like that. It wasn't like I was making mistakes or not scoring. I'd scored thirty goals in the first ten minutes, but it really was so good that it was bad. I don't know how better to explain it. By halftime I was getting booed by nearly every fan. After an hour fans started leaving the stadium and players were vommitting all over the pitch. By fulltime, football as we knew it was dead. Cancelled. Every team in the world had called it a day. I was that bad.

Mark, Leeds.

Themes: Football, Being So Good You're Bad, Andy Gray.

39)

My dad always used to say that the brain was the sexiest part of a woman's body, but have you seen a brain? They're fucking disgusting.

Luke, Essex.

Themes: Brains, Sexiness, Wisdom of the Father.

40)

Even as a 22 year old in 2007 it feels like the Internet has been around forever. I don't know how I'd cope without it. There'll come a time when I'll have kids and they'll start using the Internet from a very young age, much younger than I did. How do you break it to a six year old that the Internet didn't always exist? It could shatter their tiny infant brain. It would be worse than the time my dad told me that the universe didn't exist 13.2 billion years ago. I cried for a week.

Stephanie, Ludlow.

Themes: Internet, Children, Brains.

41)

Back in the 80s there was a big thing about coining popular phrases. It wasn't until 1991 that I finally came up with one; "A man with no purpose belongs in the circus" I said. As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I'd hit the big time. People would be saying it for years to come, and whenever someone said "Where did that come from?" someone would say "Lester Jackman, that's where?". It never did catch on. Looking back, it didn't even mean anything, all it did was rhyme a bit.

L. Jackman, N1.

Themes: Coining Popular Phrases, Failing to Predict the Future, the 80s.

42)

For years I would wake up in middle of the night covered in sweat with the same burning question on my cold, cold mind; could I love a woman if I found out that she was nothing but a robot? This wasn't like finding out that your girlfriend used to be a man with balls and logic, that I could cope with, but to love a woman that was made of wires and chips, was it possible?

I've never been a religious man and I certainly don't believe in a soul, so I didn't have that to worry about, which made it even harder to decide, because I could have immediately dismissed her if she didn't have a soul if and believed in such nonsensical nonsense. Aren't we all just machines of meat and bones at the end of the day? I'd ask myself. As long as she was self aware then there was nothing wrong with it, was there? I just didn't know. Maybe it would just come down to how big her tits were. I needed to know for sure though, so I built a robot. That was the easy part. The hard part was making me forget she was a robot. Amnesia is no easy thing. It's not like you see on t.v. I had to hit myself on the head five, maybe six times before I forgot everything.

So there I was lying on the floor of my lab all dazed and confused, when who should help me up but my beautiful robot robot. I was captivated by her beauty. She took me to casualty and we bonded as I waited in the ER for four hours. Say what you will about the NHS, but their long waiting times sure do help you full in love with robots. She was programmed to learn and make her own decisions, in that sense she was as human as me and maybe even you. She was smart, funny and not even a slight racist. She was my perfect woman. I'd even go as far as saying she was my soul mate if I believed souls or if she wasn't a soulless machine.

Within six months we were engaged to be wed. We arranged a winter wedding, because she loved the snow. I'd programmed her to do just one thing other than be completely free to make her own decisions; on the day of our wedding she had to come forward and tell me that she was a robot. God knows why I did such a thing. How was I supposed to explain to 500 guests that the wedding was off because it turned out I'd fallen in love with a robot? I didn't call the wedding of though. I was too shocked and needed time to think. So I spent the entire honeymoon laying on the beach asking myself one burning question; if I found out that my wife was a robot, could I stay married to her? I've been asking myself the same question ever since.

Andrew, Devon.

Themes: Artificial Life, Love, Amnesia.

43)

There was a guy in school with me who was a bit of a nobody. He was a nice guy and all, but really boring. Anyway, one night he got struck by lightning and was fortunate enough to come out of the attack with some decent superpowers. He had harnassed the power of electricity. He could move as fast as lightning and shoot bolts of the stuff from his hands. He knew straight away that with great power came great responsibility. He didn't need an uncle to tell him that. The thought of not becoming a superhero didn't even enter his mind. There was just one problem though; would he become an iconic and infallible DC style superhero, or a more human and troubled Marvel style superhero whose powers would get in the way of him dating girls and keeping a job? Marvel or DC? It was that age old question. He'd read Superman and Spider-Man as a child and liked both of them equally.

He delayed his entrance into crime fighting until he could be sure. Weeks went by and he still couldn't decide. Was he more super or was he more man? Years passed and not once had he used his powers for good. When he graduated from university with a degree in history he needed to get some money together quickly, so he took on a job in admin to pay off his credit card and overdraft. He was still in the job when he was 25. He worked his way up though, still not sure of what to do with his powers. By the time he was 35 he was the head of his department, starting to go bald and carrying a lot of extra weight. By his 40th birthday, shooting lightning from his hands was just a forgotten memory.

Isaac, London.

Themes: Effects of Lightning, Marvel or DC?, Wasted Opportunities.

44)

Meat isn't murder, it's burger.

Carlton, West Sussex.

Themes: Misunderstandings, Meat, Morrisey.

45)

I had a great money making idea once. I'd change my phone number to one of those premium rate dealies. Everytime a friend would text me I'd get a pound. All I needed to do was make a load of friends. Sadly no one wants to be friends with a man who's so expensive to keep in touch with.

Scott, Newcastle.

Themes: Failed Businesses, Phone Numbers, Friendship.

46)

Many, many years ago I used to work in a lamp shop. It paid the bills and I got to read a lot of books during the quiet hours. One morning the back of my hand accidentally brushed against an old magic looking one, and sure enough, it was magic. I'd been warned about not wearing gloves because of the risk of touching a magic one, but I was hungover and not really paying any attention. Just as I'd seen in my induction video, out popped a genie. The stench was unbearable. "My wish is your command, master" he said.
"No thank you" I told him. I explained to him that I didn't believe in accepting help from supernatural sources, because I wanted my life to end up as it should be without cheating and shortcuts.
"If I was meant to have a million dollars, then I would earn a million dollars. I don't need a genie for that." I said.
"But I can give you anything" he said "I can let you dance inside raindrops, swim inside a cloud, cum inside a lady, whatever your heart desires."
He just wouldn't take no for an answer, so I explained in no uncertain terms that at no point in my life would I ever make a wish, not upon a star, a birthday cake and certainly not with a suspicious looking genie.
"So if you could just leave now. I've got to get back to my book" I told him. Sadly it wasn't that simple. He informed me that he couldn't leave until I'd made my three wishes. He suggested that I made two insignificant wishes that would have no effect on my life and then use my third wish him to go away, but I told him that I couldn't guarantee that those wishes wouldn't completely change the course of my life.
"Haven't you seen Sliding Doors?" I said. He hadn't. So that's how it began. I was doomed to spend the rest of my life with a genie by my side.

With hindsight, nothing could have had a bigger effect on my life than me not making those wishes, but I was stubborn. I should have just used them a couple of weeks later when I saw how much of a problem he was going to be, but as the years went by it became harder to go back and change my mind. It was a battle of wills. I think he could have moved on if he wanted to, but neither of us wanted to be the first to back down. It's hard to meet women when there's always a strangely dressed foreign man standing next to you. I tried dressing him in modern clothes, but he just looked like an idiot tourist. The only women I could have sex with were weirdos or prostitutes, and even then I had to pay double for having him there watching. Within ten years of rubbing that lamp I was thoroughly depressed. After fifteen I didn't have a job or a single friend. Nobody wants to employ or befriend a man with a genie. He's seen as a loose cannon, because with one wish he could have your job, your wife and your children. The closest thing I had to friend was the genie.

John, Dundee.

Themes: Genies, Life Changing Events, Not Backing Down.

47)

My biggest fear is that in the future, computer files will be so big that the only place we can store them is in our brain, and the only way to transfer them is through kissing. Sure, it sounds like fun running around on hoverboards kissing sexy space women to give them the latest Sum 41 EP, but what about when I've got to give Dave in Accounts my powerpoint presentation for the big board meeting on Friday?

Adam, Crewe.

Themes: Brains, Future, Dave in Accounts.

48)

September the 11th was always a strange day for me. I woke up on the first one of the 21st century and found a present and card next to my pillow. The card said "Happy End of Our Relationship". I quickly phoned my boyfriend to find out what was going on. He said that he wasn't breaking up with me, he just wanted to celebrate the anniversary of the day our relationship would end. I got really angry at him at first, but he took me to Paris the next year. Eventually I grew to look forward to it, because it's always nice to celebrate something and he always went out of his way to do something special. We weren't going to break up anyway, we were very much in love. Then on the morning of September the 11th 2006 I was woken up by the phone ringing. I thought it was going to be my boyfriend wishing me happy anniversary, but it was the police. He'd jumped in front of a train.

Catherine, London.

Themes: Anniversaries, Suicide, 9/11.

49)

People say that time travel is impossible, but it's not, I can do it. Don't ask me how, I just can. When I was younger I couldn't really control it and I'd just pop an hour into the future or past if there was a lot on my mind. One time I was at the cinema watching the Sixth Sense and I got so scared that I unconsciously skipped to the end of the film, found out that Bruce Willis was a ghost and skipped back and couldn't help but loudly express my amazement at the twist. It did not go down well. I knew I had to learn to control it then, for fear of ruining every M Night Shyamalan film ever made. As I've got older though I've realised that I shouldn't be messing around with the space time continuum. I could be placing bets on sporting events that I know the results to, but I've seen Back to the Future 2, I've got the trilogy on dvd. I know what could happens. I hardly jump through time at all anymore, maybe if the adverts come on tv I sometimes skip forward a couple of minutes, but with sky+ and that these days it's just as easy tape everything and do it that way.

Mitchell, Liverpool.

Themes: Time Travel, Sky+, M Night Shyamalan.

50)

I was walking through the park a few weeks ago during my lunchbreak when I found an oil lamp, so, being in a curious mood I picked it up and gave it a good old fashioned rub. Nothing happened, so I put it back on the floor and carried on walking across the grass. Then I saw something which blew my mind; another lamp. I'd been walking through this park everyday for the past couple of years and not once before had I found a lamp, but on this very day I had seen not one, but two. The odds of this one being a magical lamp were very much in my favour, so I gave it my patented old fashioned rub, and, just as I had hoped, out poured a genie, half man, half gas.
"Congratulations on discovering me, strangely clothed stranger." he said "Your wish is my command. I grant you two wishes"
"Two wishes?" I asked "Aren't I supposed to get three?"
"No, that was the old tarriff. You have now used one wish"
"But I only asked a question" I said.
"Yes, but you wished to know the answer."
"So I've only got one wish left?" I asked.
"Yes." And with that he was gone in a puff of smoke. Easy come easy go, I suppose.

Angus, Norwich.

Themes: Genies, Lunch Breaks, Bum Deals.

51)

Sometimes I wonder if I give blowjobs in the bus station so I can buy heroin or if I buy heroin because I give blowjobs in the bus station. I just don't know anymore.

Steve, London.

Themes: Blowjobs, Heroin, Vicious Cycles.

52)

When she said she had the bug I thought she meant harmless old Aids, nothing a double layer of condom couldn't sort out, but what lurked inside her was something far more sinister. I'd heard about it on the news a few months back, scientists had found some kind of insect in the rainforest. Stupid rainforest. It was a parasite which nests just outside the uterus. It's supposed to act as some kind of anti-rape thing or to stop women getting really drunk and having one night stands they'd later regret. They're fierce little things with claws, teeth and everything. How they work is that they only come out of the woman if you sing to them. You're supposed to explain how it isn't just a one night stand and that you actually like the girl and your intentions are pure, but it has to be through song, because they can work out if you're lying if there's a melody. If you try to put your penis in before the insect agrees to step out they say it takes a layer of skin off. It could all be bullshit, but I didn't like the idea of putting my cock on an insect anyway, so there I was on my hands and knees singing into this woman's vagina. Call me old fashioned, but I preferred sex before all the singing.

Rod, Swindon.

Themes: Insects, Miracles of the Rainforest, Sacrificing Your Dignity In The Name of Sex.

53)

"Don't you fucking lol at me!" she yelled.
"lol?" I said.
"Laugh out loud." Already I could see that this woman was an idiot, she was talking in acronyms. How wrong I was. We've been married nearly twelve years.

Mark, Swindon.

Themes: First Impressions, Wives, LOL!

54)

People go on about Einstein being a bloody clever bloke, but he was the guy who said "I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." Talking out of his bloody arse. We all knew that World War III would be fought with nuclear weapons, and for a smart bloke he sure didn't know a lot about the effects of nuclear radiation. Sticks and stones! Who needed sticks and stones when the 4% of the population who survived developed super powers? The more short sighted survivors were running around rubbing spiders on their skin in the hope of becoming the new spider-men. Those of us who were clever enough to think outside the box rubbed ourselves in machine guns and elephants.

Chris, NY.

Themes: Einstein, Superpowers, Nuclear Apocalypse.

55)

Too many people stop me and tell me that I've got white on my clothes. "It's washing powder!" I cry at them. Those who have been lucky enough to live with me know that I use four times the recommended dosage of washing powder. It maximises the cleaning and leaves a nice white coat for all to see. Most people don't understand why I want everyone to see that my clothes are clean. Their worldview is quite warped. People spend hundreds of pounds to get a tiger or a man on a horse waving a bowling pin on their clothes, just so that easily impressed street travellers know that it's a brand name which cost hundreds of pounds. Wouldn't you rather people thought that your clothes were clean rather than expensive?

John, Hounslow.

Themes: Washing Powder, Brand Names, Warped Worldviews.

56)

Like most kids I spent much of my youth in the park. Not THE park, but the park I a grew up by. While the other kids were playing on the slide, I was on my hands and knees digging through the grass in search of a four leaf clover. Why? I wasn't a superstitious child, but I believed that such a rare treasure would bring me fame and fortune. This was before reality tv when you had to work for your fame. Then the council got rid of the slide, because it was too dangerous. Instead, people started playing on the round-a-bout all the time, but still I searched for the elusive plant. Then a kid fell off the round-a-bout and cracked his skull open, so to stop any future law suits the council had it taken away and replaced with a painted maze on the floor. It was rubbish. All that was left was the swings. One day the local bully came to the park and made the chain of the swing wrap around the top bar so many times it became impossible to swing from. It was a logistical nightmare. People had nothing to do, but they saw me on my hands and knees and like mindless parrots of the hand, they got down on their knees and started looking for that clover. Within minutes, Sally Jessop had found one. There was no way that there'd be another one in the park. The game was over, my childhood had been wasted, I was 22 years old.

Linda, Wrexham.

Themes: Wasted Lives, Childhood Friends, Four Leaf Clovers.

57)

I spent most of my twenties and early thirties looking for the answer to the question. You know, the big question, the meaning of life. I searched everywhere. I checked the Internet, but it wasn't there. I asked a priest, but he didn't have a clue, so I checked the Internet again, just in case I missed it. Nope, nothing. I spent six months living in a monastry with a bunch of monks. It did nothing but teach me how to punch through solid brick. I wrote letters to the most esteemed scientists of our generation, but the few who wrote back were even less helpful than the priest.

I was close to giving up, but then an idea hit me like a bullet to the throat. Maybe there is no answer, because the answer is a question. Not just a question, but a question to the answer of the question "What is the meaning of life?" It might not make sense to you, but it made perfect sense to me. I spent the next five years thinking up every possible question. It would need to be a universal question, one which could apply to any answer. One Christmas I woke up and went downstairs, there were my beautiful wife and daughter opening their presents and laughing like idiots. As I bent down to kiss my daughter on the head it came to me, just like a knife to the heart; "So what?". That was the question. It fit perfectly. Whatever the answer to the question was, the question for the answer had to be "So what?". It was that kind of indifference which finally drove over the edge. I didn't want to live in a world ruled by "So what?". So that's why I'm writing this letter to you from beyond the grave. Yes, that's right, I'm dead, I'm a ghost, wooooooooooo.

Jon, Beyond The Grave.

Themes: Meaning of Life, Searches, Suicide.

58)

I've always found it very easy to be a strict vegetarian whilst enjoying a meat heavy diet. You just have to be less strict about what you classify as an animal.

Robert, Bournemouth.

Themes: Vegetarians, What is an animal?, Morrisey.

59)

The best thing about my nearest cafe is they let you swap food for other food in the breakfasts, so if you don't like eggs you can swap it for an extra sausage or something. The worst thing about my housemate is he thinks that by swapping every item for more bacon he's somehow beating the system.

Gareth, Preston.

Themes: Breakfast, Housemates, Bacon.

60)

A few months back I was playing as Oldham on Football Manager and I got them promoted to the Championship. I didn't have a lot of money to spend, so I thought I'd bring in a hardworking and experienced defensive midfilder on the cheap, someone like Nicky Butt. I typed "Nicky Butt" in the search bar and nothing came up. I checked the Birmingham team page and he wasn't there. I was baffled. Maybe he'd retired in my game, but it was only 2008.

I went downstairs and told my housemate (A die hard United fan). "Have you seen Nicky Butt's not in the new Football Manager game?" I said.
"Who?"
"Nicky Butt." My housemate literally had no idea who I was talking about. Something was not right. I ran back upstairs and pulled out my 95/96 Merlin Premier Leage sticker book. I rushed back downstairs and opened it to the United page to show him. Where there was once a sticker of Nicky Butt's head and shoulders, now there was just a tear in the page. Someone had ripped him out.
"You had his name on the back of your grey shirt!" I said.
"Hold on" he said, and he went into his room. He came back a minute later wearing the infamous grey Sharp Viewcam jersey from 1996. It didn't fit him anymore and his belly was hanging out underneath.
"Look" he said. He turned around and I couldn't believe what I saw; "Cantona 7". Had I imagined it? Was there actually ever a player called Nicky Butt?
"Come here" my housemate said. He grabbed his laptop, typed in wikipedia and then Nicky Butt. No results found. What was going on?

I decided to phone my mate Carl. "Carl, you remember Nicky Butt, don't you?"
"Who?" Was this a bad episode of the Twilight Zone? I was distraught. Maybe I was losing my mind. Were all of my memories false? Did Wayne Rooney exist? Yes, he must. He scored last night. Or did he? I started to pace the living room. All this time my housemate had a strange look on his face, a smile, he did not smile often. He was clinically depressed.
"What are you smiling about?" I asked.
"Look at the date." I looked at my watch. It was April 1st. "April Fools!"

It had all been a harmless prank, but it didn't make any sense. Why had my housemate gone to such an effort? He must have opened the data editor on Football Manager months ago to delete Nicky Butt before I'd even started my Oldham game. It would have taken ages, because my computer is only 256mb RAM. He'd ripped a sticker out of my mint condition and fully complete sticker album. He'd gone and bought another grey United shirt from ebay, deleted a page from Wikipedia and phoned all of my friends to tell them to deny all knowledge of Nicky Butt. All of this on the off chance that I was going to try to sign Nicky Butt on Football Manager before 12pm on April 1st 2007.

Richard, Nottingham.

Themes: Football Manager, April Fools Day, Nicky Butt.

61)

I've done many things in the name of love. I've run marathons, I've spelled out words in rose petals, I've strangled the life out of an unknown man, but I've done far worse things in the name of hunger.

Chris, Somerset.

Themes: Love, Hunger, Murder.

62)

I used to go to school with a genie. He was the most popular boy in my year, but when you looked in his eyes you could tell he was also the most unhappy.

Amy, Bedford.

Themes: Genies, Childhood Friends, Popularity.

63)

I wanted to give my daughter the best 16th birthday present in the world, which is why I started planning it even before she was born. Her father jumped ship as soon he found out I was pregnant, so I had to plan it all on my own, but I thought that this present would be so good, it would make up for sixteen years of growing up without a father.

As soon as she was born I took her home and put her in her room. It was painted with just two colours, black and white. I made sure that she wouldn't leave her room for sixteen years. There were no windows and the door had fourteen locks. I'd told everyone that I'd lost the baby during the birth, she was my little secret. For sixteen years she would live in this room of black and white, then on May 1st 1999, her 16th birthday, I would unlock all fourteen locks and set her free. I would give her colour. Imagine it, living your whole life in just two colours, then bam! someone throws a rainbow in your face. It really would have been the best present anyone in the world would have ever been given. It never happened though. Stupid social services sticking their stupid noses where they weren't wanted.

Mary, Bradford.

Themes: Colour, Birthday Presents, Mothers.

64)

It was the hottest day of summer. The sun was beating down like a thousand suns. As I walked along the soft dry grass I ran my hand through a blackberry bush. The thorns cut through my hand like it was made of birthday cake, but I didn't care. I didn't have a care in the world. A pearl white butterfly landed on my head. I felt just like a princess.

Justin, Leeds.

Themes: Butterflies, Summer, Self Harm.

65)

I suffer from a very rare medical condition, only two people in the history of time have ever had it; me and my reflection. People used to think that I was very vain, because I was always looking in the mirror. What they didn't realise was every time I looked at myself in the mirror I traded places with my reflection. I used to swap as often as I could, because I didn't like the idea of one of us being trapped as a reflection for very long. It wasn't so bad being stuck in a cold and two dimensional world if you knew that you'd be let out in a few hours, but, like most things, that all changed because of a girl.

I met Rachel when I was seventeen. Her family had just moved over from Canada and she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. After meeting her I started looking at my reflection less and less. Why would I want to look at my ugly face when I could have been looking at her's? After a couple of months we were dating and I was avoiding mirrors at all costs, because I wanted to spend all of my time with her. I knew pretty soon that I was in love with her, and I think that my reflection loved her too, because he seemed to be avoiding looking at me almost as much as I was avoiding looking at him. We couldn't help catching each other's eyes though, in the surface of a pond, the glass of a window. It was a constant struggle to avoid seeing my face, but it was nothing compared to the split second when I recognised myself in the window of a passing car, that fear, the uncertainty, when would I be with Rachel again? What if I never got out of the reflection? Doomed to spend eternity trapped behind a surface, forever looking out at him, with her. How long would it take for me to become my reflection if I spent every minute reflecting him?

As I got older I got better at avoiding my reflection, but I was becoming ashamed of myself. What had I done to the one person who had always stuck by me my whole life? On my 21st birthday I made a deal with my reflection, every year, on this day we would come to the fair and visit the House of Mirrors, whichever of us came out would have her for the next 365 days. It was the best birthday present either of us could wish for.

Tom, Wales.

Themes: Reflections, Love, Rivalry.

66)

I was waiting at the bus stop a few weeks ago when a nervous and uncomfortable man approached me. I'm not one for awkward bus stop chats, in fact, I hate them more than anything in the world. The man looked like he was about he was about to say something, but then he changed his mind at the last minute. He started to pace around over the same three or four steps. He really was the most uncomfortable and nervous man I'd ever seen. Eventually he said something.
"So how do you keep them cold?" he mumbled.
"Sorry?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing, nothing" he said and he went back to pacing around the bus stop. It was a sunny day and he was beginning to sweat. A moment later he spoke again.
"It must have been a real pain when they brought out those two pound coins." he said.
"Um, yeah, I suppose." I said. He seemed disappointed by my response and he went back to pacing the bus stop. The bus was due any minute. Soon I would be free from the nervous pacing man and his strange words. Before the bus could arrive though he came to a halt, looked at his watch and took a deep breath. He walked up to me once more but with a lot more purpose in his stride.
"I guess I'll just take a Pepsi and be off then" he said.
"Pardon?"
"Oh, a Coke or something."
"I'm sorry" I said "but do you think I'm a vending machine?" His cheeks turned scarlet. I wouldn't have thought it was possible, but the most uncomfortable looking man in the world was looking even more uncomfortable. I didn't need to make the situation any worse. "It's ok" I lied "It happens all the time." Whether he believed me or not I do not know, but the bus arrived and he took that as his cue to leave.

Jordan, London.

Themes: Bus Stops, Vending Machines, Akward Conversations.

67)

When I started writing my first book I struggled quite a lot. Someone told me I should write about what I knew, but I don't know much about anything.

Alex, Portsmouth.

Themes: Books, Advice, Nothing.

68)

I saw some very strange graffiti on the bus stop this morning. It was a kind of comic strip, which I shall now convert into a completely worded format for you.

Halley's comet, the comet that you all know and love is not a comet at all, it's a football. In 2061 the good people of Nike were experimenting with new ball and boot technology in an underground lab somewhere far far away. They wanted an indestructable ball and boot which could withstand the force of an exploding sun, just in case. They thought they'd found the right material in the rainforest, a plant which was made up of the same DNA as the stuff seconds and minutes are made of. To put the goods to the test they breeded a man with an ant, and then breeded the child with a nuclear bomb. When the child was sixteen they chopped off his leg and grafted it onto a donkey. They put the boot on the donkey and let him kick the ball with all his might. What happened? The ball broke through the safety net, through the wall of the lab and carried on going.

It was kicked so hard that it will never stop. Such is its DNA, though, it is only visible backwards through time, and it was soon spotted in 1986 and 1910. Not before long is appeared on the Bayer Tapestry and was being seen by the ancient people of the ancient world. Legend has it that the Ancient Greeks spotted the ball flying over Mount Olympus and this is where they got the name Nike for the goddess of victory. Was it a victory though? Would the ball last forever if it went so deeply into the past that it arrived before the Big Bang and ceased to exist? However, there are some scientists who believe that the Big Bang was actually started by the ball colliding with the first atom, and, in that sense, everything in the universe is made up of the ball and always will be.

It was a nice bit of graffiti, but you can't beat a good cock and balls.

Leon, London.

Themes: Football, Big Bang, Comets.

69)

It might look like I've got "Twat" tattooed on my forehead, but it's just a very unfortunate birthmark.

Lee, Derby.

Themes: Birthmarks, Tattoos, Twat.

70)

I always wonder about the future. Will it blow my mind? The answer is no. The problem with the future is that it comes gradually, too gradually, at the speed of one second per second. When Toyota unveil the flying death car it will seem like the most perfectly natural thing in the world. If you had shown me my mobile phone ten years ago it would have surely blown my mind, but as I progressed from normal phone, to mobile phone, to colour screened mobile phone, to the polyphonic camera phone I took it all in my stride. The future will never impress me. The human brain is not designed to be blown, but it can happen. Luckily the human brain has defenses for this. If I was to fall into a coma and awake thirty years later I would be in the future, and because I hadn't experienced the change gradually, my mind would blow. This is why when when we go into comas, the longer we stay unconcious the less chance we have of ever waking up. Our brain keeps us in the coma to stop us awaking in a strange and confusing future where nothing makes sense and the values of our day are no longer valued. We can stay in a coma and wake up a few wakes later, our brain can cope with that. We will feel a little strange, but our minds will not blow at the scientific advances of a fortnight. This is why cryogenic freezing will never work. Unless, I, Professor James T. Proudfoot, succeed in my quest to develop a helmet capable of saving the human brain from blowing itself up when faced with a non-gradual future. Sadly, I fear that my helmet will contain technology so advanced that it would blow the minds of the minds I am trying to unblow.

James, Wolverhampton.

Themes: Mind Blow, The Future, Comas.

71)

Never trust an elf. It seems so obvious when you say it aloud, but in real life they're quite smooth talkers. When he challenged me a game to limbo I thought "Sure, why the heck not?", when he asked me to sign an agreement in blood I just thought "Sure, why the heck not? His pen's probably run out." If there are five words which have done me wrong in my life they are sure, why, the, heck and not. It's mostly my fault. I should have checked that he meant the popular novelty dance, not spending an eternity in Limbo to see who's the first to go insane. Not only are elves smooth talkers, they are very patient. There's no way I'm going to beat him. I probably wouldn't have even beaten him at limbo, because he's half my bloody size.

J. Huntford, Limbo.

Themes: Elves, Challenges, Limbo.

72)

I never sweat. That's a fact. Even during my most enthusiastic sexual adventures you would struggle to find a single drop of moisture on me. You'd think that women would love it and they'd be lining up for my 100% dry intercourse, but they don't. They say "It's not natural. How is it natural?" and "How can I trust a man that doesn't sweat?" They are questions that I've never found a good answer for, and so, I've hit the biggest dry patch of my sexual career.

Arthur, Portland.

Themes: Sweat, Sex, Things That Women Hate.

73)

I'm the lead singer of a very popular band. I won't say who, but you'd have definitely heard of us. Anyway, I've been in the rock game for twenty years, and at the top of it for the last fifteen. What happened during the first five years? It's a good question, so good that I'll answer it now.
We struggled, like a lot of bands we struggled to make the leap from pub band to the most famous band in the world. Sometimes we weren't even the most famous band in the pub. Our songs were as good as any, nobody could deny that, but we were missing something. We tried everything. We'd play sober, we'd play drunk, we'd play all messed up on mind drugs, but it was always the same. We tried playing more poppy mainstream stuff, but it was no good. In a last desperate attempt to get ourselves noticed we sacked our drummer and replaced him with a monkey in an astronaut suit. He couldn't play for shit.

It was after that gig when we decided it was time to call it a day. We told the monkey trainer that we wouldn't be needing the monkey or the suit again, because we were breaking up. He said that it was a shame, because he really liked our songs. Then he suggested we changed our name. It was so obvious I couldn't believe none of us had thought of it before. He said he knew a guy who sold band names, but we didn't have a lot of money, so we decided to make our own. We tried a few different names, The Animated Love Monkeys, The Stone Shoe Pirates, Inarticulate Deathray, to name just a few. Nothing changed.

We decided once again that it was time to call it a day, but the monkey trainer really insisted that we gave this band name guy a try. So we did. He didn't live in Britain though. He lived in India. It was a long way to go, but the monkey trainer said that he was the best there was. I got to India and hired a guide to help me find the man. He lived inside a cave at the peak of one the world's highest mountains. It was a long way to climb, but the monkey trainer said that this guy had come up with The Beatles and The Sex Pistols, so I climbed. It took four days.

When I got to the top I was quite surprised to see that the inside of the cave looked a lot like a 1950s American diner. I was even more surprised to see that the man had red skin, horns and a tail.
"You're not the devil are you?" I asked.
"What a horrible thing to say." he said. Looking back, it really was quite a bad thing to say to someone I'd never met before. I explained my problem and he said it would be the easiest thing in the world for him to make us the biggest band on the planet.
"How much is it going to cost?" I asked "A thousand pounds?"
"Pah, I don't want your money" he said.
"What do you want then? My soul?" I joked.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"What then?" I asked.
"Your happiness."
"What?
"Your happiness. All of the happiness that you gain from being the biggest band in the world, I want that." I leapt at the offer. I wasn't an idiot. I didn't believe in all of that mumbo jumbo and he didn't even want me to sign my name in blood. He didn't ask for a signature at all. Not even a handshake. He gave me the name, but I wasn't blown away by it. In fact, I was quite underwhelmed. Part of me thought that the whole journey had been a waste of time. I'd spent my last £300 on my flight and I was going to have to get a proper job as soon as I got back. I was a bit pissed.

So I got home and told the rest of the band the name. They were speechless. I thought they were taking the piss, but they said that they genuinely thought it was the best name they had ever heard.
"Ok, then" I said "Let's try it out. Let's make some flyers and play at the Golden Panther on Friday."

Friday came and there were a lot more people there than when we usually played. Maybe it was the name on the flyer, maybe there was nothing else going on that day. Who knows? So we played the same songs we always played, just as well as we always did, but the crowd went insane. Some slick-haired pony-tailed record company bigshot was in the audience and he asked us to come in to lay down some demos the week after. Six months later we released our first album. Another six months later we were the biggest band in the world.

We'd made it. Every night I was having sex with the most beautiful women you could ever imagine. I had so much money that every morning I poured a gram of cocaine on my cornflakes, a gram in my coffee and a kilo out of the window. Just because I could. Everyone wanted to be my friend, and not just the people who wanted to be my friend because I was famous, millions of people genuinely wanted to be my friend. Most importantly though, I was doing the thing I loved, making music. But was I happy? No. I couldn't stop thinking about my deal with the man at the top of the mountain. Could he really have my happiness? Did he just say it just to mess with my head? Did the band name even have anything to do with it? I felt completely numb.

Eighty-seven million record sales later, half a billion dollars in the bank, four thousand notches in my bedpost, enough heroin to bring down a thousand rhinos, and I can't remember the last time I smiled.

Anonymous, California.

Themes: Happiness, Band Names, Trips To Indian Mountain Tops.

74)

When their fiery red ships enter our atmosphere, the time will come for every man to stand tall and every nation to unite against our common foe, the Martians of Mars, but I will do no such thing.

When they exit their ships and begin to feast on our young, parents will cry out in despair, but I will remain silent.

When they kick down my door and melt my walls with lasers of green, my family will fight for all their worth until their dying breaths, but I will stand still.

When they pull off my arms and suck out my brain, they will expect me to be afraid, but I will be calm.

Then, when I get to Heaven and God says to me "Son, why did you not unite with your brothers when they needed you most? Why did you not cry out in despair at the sounds of the dying young? Why did you stand apart from your family as they lived their final moments? And why were you not afraid as they sucked out your brain and pulled off your arms?"

I will say "I thought I was being Punk'd"

A. James, Boston.

Themes: Aliens, Heaven, Pranks.

75)

Between the ages of eight and seventeen I really wanted to be a Power Ranger. Not because they were constantly saving the world, although my dad did say that it built character, but because they seemed as close a group of friends as any. I always wanted a friend as a child.

Andrew, Islington.

Themes: Advice of the Father, Power Rangers, Friendship.

76)

There are lots of things I don't understand, far too many to list right now, but there's one thing I really don't get; why don't we all fall to the floor in tears every minute of the day? We all know we're going to die at some point, and nobody will ever truly love us, but everyone just carries on walking around like nothing's wrong. Maybe everyone feels like me and they don't want to be the first to do it. It'll probably to take some brave hero, a real wreck of a human being, to be the first to publically declare this whole system of living insane. I know it won't be me, but I really wish it was, because I don't think I can take it much longer.

Anonymous, UK.

Themes: Tears, Life, Not Wanting to be the First.

77)

I've just been told that the government is planning to fight ageism in the UK by mating the youngest members of society with the oldest, in a bid to create a race of middle aged children, which should bring all three groups closer together. It's a flawed plan, but all the best plans are.

Cliff, London.

Themes: Young People, Old People, Government Enforced Mating.

78)

I walked past my bus stop this morning and I saw a guy wanking into a hat. Fair enough, it was a nice hat, but he was at the front of the queue and people were trying to get on the bus.

P. Jones, Ipswich.

Themes: Bus Stops, Masturbation, Hats.

79)

I don't want to sound like the party pooper who poops in the bonfire, but I really don't think we should be allowed to have staff parties in work anymore. I like forced socialisation as much as the next person, but this is how it all starts, isn't it? It starts off with harmless nights exclusive to members of staff, but the minute you start excluding people it's only a matter of time before you've got whites only parties and the annual kick the black man Christmas drink.

Phil, Brentford.

Themes: Staff Parties, Exclusive, Forced Interaction Leading To Ugly Racism.

80)

Is it just me or does every man have a problem peeing if there's someone standing next to him? I'd make a joke about peer pressure if this wasn't such a serious matter. I feel stupid going in a cubicle if there's no-one at the urinals, so most of the time I'm forced to use the urinal knowing that if I don't get started before someone comes in I'm going to have to pretend I've finished. But what if he looks down at sees that I haven't had a piss at all? He'll either think I'm a wimp or I've only come to the toilet to spy on cocks. Do other men even check if the person next to them is actually peeing, or is it just me? All I know is I have to leave the toilet and hold it in for an hour and pray that when I come back all the urinals are being used, so I can use a cubicle without looking like an idiot. What about when my friends see me going in the cubicles all the time? They must think there's something wrong with me or I can't stop shitting, when I can't even shit in my own toilet, let alone a public toilet. Does anyone else have to rub their stomach when they're about to go in the cubicle so that onlookers will think that they're just going to be sick instead of peeing sitting down? It won't be long before I start making vomitting noises. Does anyone even pay any attention to other people in publiuc toilets, or is it just me? Why can't we just live in a cubicle only society? Would it be so bad? Would it? Please?

Anonymous, Liverpool.

Themes: Toilets, Urination, Cock Spying.

81)

This afternoon I had a very long chat with possibly the most naive person in existence. She stopped me on the street during my lunch break, even though I'd never seen her before in my life. I was panicked at first, because my instinct told me that I'd either slept with this girl and had been to drunk to form a lasting memory or she wanted something from me. It was the latter. It quickly became clear that she was trying to trick me into giving my money to her by coming straight out and demanding it. When that failed she turned to emotional blackmail. Luckily for my bank account I am immune to guilt, because whilst my doctor was vaccinating me for measles, mumps and tb, my wise dad was teaching me not to be an easily persuaded fool. She went on and on about the Africans of Africa, but she couldn't understand why I would choose not to set up an eternal direct debit to fund international charitism.
"It won't be forever though" she said "We just need enough to give them a head start. Give a man a fish and he can eat for one day, teach a man to fish and he can eat everyday." I then had to spend the next fifteen minutes explaining that teaching an African man to fish would have terrible global consequences. If all of a sudden the husband, the head of the family, is now spending every waking minute gallivanting in river beds and lakes, making use of his newly found skills, it would only be a matter of time before his wife became lonely.
"Women need company" I told her. It would be only natural for the wife to seek the company of a man who isn't trained in the art of fishing and over time she would surely fall in love with him.
"Who could blame her?" I said "An absent husband is barely a husband at all." Eventually the husband would find out, he's no fool, for he is more educated than his wife and her man-mistress, because my damaging pounds have taught him about the world. At first he will be angry. The African man is a passionate man, it would not be unlikely for him to slay the object of his wife's new affection.
"Who could blame him?" I said. Soon they would be seperated, leaving many kids without a father. Now living alone, the husband no longer has any reason to fish. That is until the depression hits in.
"I don't know if you know much medicine and psychotherapy in Africa" I told the girl "But I will tell you this; Africa is no place for the depressed man." It would be simply a matter of days before he has turned to heroin to numb the pain of his existence. Everyday he fishes, not to feed his family, they are gone, but to pay for his daily fix of smack, which is of the lowest quality. The wife would see the damage she had caused the only man she had ever truly loved and one cold African night would see her hanging from her neck until dead. Partially orphaned the children are halfway to a foster home, where they will be tortured daily, such is the state of foster homes in Africa, that is unless the father can get himself together.
"Which I think he can" I said. He's off the gear, but looking after six children is a fulltime job. He no longer fishes. He's back to square one.
"What good came of teaching this man to fish?" I asked her. By this point she was talking to somebody else.

Dan, Portsmouth.

Themes: Charity, Africa, Fishing.

82)

I don't care how you put it, slowest person in the world is not a superpower.

Dominic, Preston.

Themes: Superpowers, Speed, World's "Blank".

83)

It's a fairly unknown fact that every human has a death frequency, a sound which will kill them on the spot. Each person's frequency is different and the chances of them hearing it in their lifetime is more than one in a billion, but it does happen. Nearly all unexplained deaths can be explained by death frequencies. With enough time and the right equipment you could kill anyone your heart desired. The US government has spent billions over the years to trying to create a death frequency gun, which can detect a person's achilles frequency in seconds and render them dead. So far their advances have been laughable. Sadly for one death-row test subject, his death frequency was the sound of his own smug laughter.

Anonymous, Somewhere.

Themes: Sounds, Death Frequencies, Government Spending.

84)

My father owned a watch shop, his father owned a watch shop and his father before him used to fix watches, but he didn't own a watch shop. Don't feel sorry for him though, I hear he led a full and happy life. In many respects I'm just like my father and grandfather, and to a lesser extent, my great grandfather, because I own a watch shop. I don't need a fancy graph to tell you that watch sales are in decline. The number of wrists in the world is always rising, but the number of watches on those wrists is always falling. You can practically imagine the graph in your mind. It's quite obvious that the mobile phone is to blame. Whoever decided to stick a clock on the screen of a phone was a genius. Even though it's quicker and easier to check your wrist for the time, people don't seem to mind delving into their pockets for it. It's just like the past when people carried pocket watches, except it's more like a sterile and daunting future where everything is electronic and shiny. The only option us watchsellers, fixers and makers have left is to totally redesign the watch. Once a month for the past two years we've been getting together to discuss the future of watches. We have come up with the following ideas:

1) Tattoo watches that tell the time every minute of the day, not just twice a day.
2) Brain watches; A watch which lives inside the brain, letting the wearer know the time without having to look at a physical device
3) Celebrity Time Tellers: Former celebrties who follow the rich and famous to tell them the time upon demand.

It's been a hard two years, that was until we came up with a better idea just three weeks ago. Lesley, a watchshop owner from Birkenhead, decided that the best thing we could do to defeat the mobile phone watch market was to put a mobile phone inside every watch. It made perfect sense. The watchmaker would rise again. Sadly Nokia, Samsung, Sony Ericsson and LG found out about our plan and they came knocking on my door. They said that if we started putting mobile phones inside our watches they would beat us up. Now we don't know what to do.

Paul, London.

Themes: Watches, Mobile Phones, Monthly Meetings.

85)

In 1994 I bought a house. I was only 21 and it was a relief to get on the property ladder so soon after graduating. It was a nice three bedroom Victorian house with all the original features. The only problem was that is was built on a hellmouth. It was fine though. I had all the certificates to say it would be safe to live on and the estate agent said it was completely dormant, but in the unlikely event of Hell spilling over, the insurance would cover it. Hellmouths didn't really do anything anymore, anyway.

By the start of 1997 the value of the house had risen by nearly 60%, so I thought I'd use the extra money to buy a small one bedroom flat in the centre of London and a villa in Portugal. 1997 was a bad year. First we lost Princess Di, then Warner Brothers turned Buffy the Vampire Slayer into a tv series. Sadly it did more than just damage the memory of the original film. I don't know if you ever watched the show, but it's basically about this girl who fights vampires and goes to a school built on a hellmouth. Everyweek something otherworldly and bad happens, simply because demons and creatures of the night are drawn to the hellmouth, which is a common misconception. It's not hard to imagine what a show like this does to the price of houses built on hellmouths. I had 22 years left on a mortgage for a house which was close to worthless. I thought I could make some money back by renting out the spare rooms to goths, but if you've ever lived with a goth you know that they're more trouble than they are worth.

Jane, Southampton.

Themes: Property Ladder, Hellmouths, Movie Spin-Offs.

86)

I'm not a very good writer, but I had a wonderful idea for a love story, so I wrote a book. It was rubbish, the pacing was all wrong, the grammar stunk and the dialogue was completely unbelievable, but I felt there was enough in the plot to try to get it published. I knew someone in publishing, so that was easy enough, I just needed a way to get the love story across, so that it wasn't buried under my terrible writing style. What I needed was a font, a font so powerful that it would leave the reader heartbroken. I scrolled through Microsoft Word, but there were none up to the task. I took it upon myself to create a font from scratch. Six weeks later I had it. It was breathtaking, the Os, the Es, the Ys, Oh, the Ys. You've never seen anything like them. I loved it so much that I decided to use it on the front cover. It was a terrible mistake, because by them time they'd finished reading the title they were so emotionally drained they couldn't face reading the book.

G. Perry, Camden.

Themes: Authors, Fonts, Love Stories.

87)

Sometimes the only socks that match are odd. Obviously I'm talking in metaphors. Or am I? Just look at my socks.

John, London.

Themes: Socks, Metaphors, Questions.

88)

I've never tried to hide the fact that I live inside a black hole. I'm just naturally hidden. Don't feel sorry for me, it's not so bad. It's hard to explain what it's like, because I don't have any eyes or a brain anymore. It's a bit like living in Cornwall, but darker and more like you're an all encompassing entity of gas and life. The hardest part was adjusting to life without tv, it took close to a million years, but I'm all the better for it now. It's going to be a pain in the arse when all of tv eventually gets sucked in here and I have to catch up on all my shows. I've got the internet though! It's just dial-up and most sites are filtered, but I only really check the BBC web site anyway.

Graham, A Black Hole.

Themes: Black Holes, Internet Filters, Life Without TV.

89)

Long ago, but not so long ago that the world looked any differently, the leaders of the four great human empires sat down with mankind's greatest foe; the wasp. For centuries the two sides had waged war, neither able to subdue the other. But for four days, in an unknown year, a truce was called and negotiations took place within a neutral kingdom whose name has long since been forgotten. Man's demands were great and the wasp's patience was short, neither party left satisfied.

In a desperate move, mankind arranged a secret conference to seek an alliance with the bee. As fate would have it, a fat wasp was mistaken for a bee and allowed entry to the conference. When news of this reached the king of the wasps, it became agreed that man and the wasp could never be friends.

D. Briggs, Dublin.

Themes: Ceasfires, Wasps, Negotiations.

90)

I've been told that people would kill for my "gift". It's not even a gift. It's more like a curse than a gift, but it's not a curse either. I can talk to animals. People jump to all sorts of conclusions when they find out, because people, like animals, are idiots. They think that just because I can talk to animals I can make them do as I please. "You can talk to humans" I tell them "but they don't carry out your bidding, do they?". They think that I can just start a conversation with any animal and build up a rapport straight away. I can't even talk to the people I work with most of the time, never mind a completely different species. Talking to animals is probably great if you've got something to say, but all it's done for me is multiply the number of organisms I have to avoid making eye contact with on the bus.

Thomas, Denmark.

Themes: Unwanted Gifts, Uncomfortable Social Situations, Talking To Animals.

91)

I went to the uni library this evening. It was quiet, just as a library should be. There was a very different atmosphere because of the high level of darkness in the air.

Anyway, I got on the bus to come home. I sat at the front. One guy decided to stand at the front by the compartment for luggage. His standing was soon interrupted by a man of many years. "You can't stand there" cried the man. His ears were filled with cotton wool and his trousers were designed for a much larger man.
"Ok" replied the man at the front, although he decided to not move and to just carry on listening to his i-pod.
"You can't stand there" cried the man again. At the next stop, another man got on. He too stood at the front. I knew that this would not go down well with Mr Cotton-Wool Ears.
"You can't stand there" he croaked. This had little effect. He arose from his seat and moved to the front. "There's a seat there" he said. Clearly he was willing to sacrifice his seat just so that nobody would stand at the front.
"It's ok" replied the newest member of the bus, who then carried on with his phone conversation.

Then it happened. Mr Cotton-Wool Ears could take it no more. He placed himself in between the two standing men and began to climb into the luggage compartment. This was no easy feat, he was old. After a lot of struggling, he was in position. Big deal, I hear you think, old people climb into luggage compartments all the time. However, not all old men climb into luggage compartments, lay on their back like a demented tortoise and swing their legs around so that nobody can stand near the front of the bus. This is what he did. Why? I may never know.

David, Leicester.

Themes: iPods, Buses, Mr Cotton-Wool-Ears.

92)

I was delighted in my lecture this morning when a girl sat next to me, not because I'm a pervert, but because it appeared that she had an equal or even greater uninterest in Egyptology than me. After exchanging a few words it became clear that she too hadn't done the homework, in fact, she didn't even know what the homework was, one step greater than I. Our lecturer asked us to go over our homework for a few minutes, giving us a chance to do something, but I obviously hadn't bought the textbook that was needed and neither had she. A tie. Luckily the girl on my other side said I could use her's. After making a few notes, the girl who knew nothing asked me what I had written, so low was her knowledge of things Egyptian.
So there I was, giving out information about something I have no idea about like some sort of wise man. I was enchanted by her lack of research. We had both arrived late, so we had to sit on the chairs at the back without a desk. I, Chin, simply rested my notepad on my lap in a casual manner, but this girl defeated me once more. She had just one piece of paper and nothing to press on. Can you imagine the genius of such a thing? One piece of paper and nothing to press on! So she folded the piece of paper two or three times and pressed it against her left hand. Her hand! She used her hand as a thing for pressing on! What could have possibly topped this? Her pen. Her pen was filled with red ink. Red ink! Who in their right mind uses red to write with? The odd word here and there, yes, but to write entire sentences is madness. All the signs in my head suggested that I was in love with this girl. We would graduate together, get married and live out our lives as Egyptologists who know nothing about Egyptology. We would have a dozen kids and send them across the world to universities where they would get degrees in all sorts of unuseful things.
Then it happened. My dream was smashed. My lecturer asked a question, a question open to anyone in the class and the girl cried out with an answer. Such enthusiasm did not fit in with my plan of a life of no knowledge. She was a fraud, she probably had shelves filled with books about Egypt. A shame.

Anthony, Swansea.

Themes: Egyptology, Love, Lack of Preparation.

93)

I had once again gone to the library, there were very few people there, mainly because it was about to close, it was Saturday and the youth of today prefer to race cars and smoke illegal drugs than read books. I could have read all of the books if I wanted to, but I didn't want to start reading them, break my glasses and end up screaming in the face of irony.

Anyway, I took out eight books, but did not have my bag, so I would have to catch the bus. I knew from the start that the chance of the university bus being in service was slim. The term does not start until Monday. After a half hour wait, the number 116 arrived. If you don't mind, I will give you some background on the 116:

It is not part of First (the primary bus company in Swansea). It was set up about two years ago and was mainly run by Mexicans without coin dispensers.

On this occasion, there was not a Mexican at the wheel. Instead there was a man who couldn't have been more than 20 years old. As I expected he didn't have a coin dispensing machine, he was fully equipped with a bum bag stuffed with coins, or a fanny pack to you Amercianese.

The bus was full. I stood at the front. The next two sentences are not relevant to the tale, so feel free to skip it. The two chairs at the very front that don't face the front and are on a raised platform, had been replaced by one front facing chair. It looked very strange upon the high platform, a bit like a rocket ship. I placed my books in the luggage compartment and carried on listening to The Strokes on my mp3 player. The song was Electricityscape.

After thirty seconds or so, the bus stopped and the driver turned around, he said "Stop it". At the time I did not know who he was speaking to or what he wanted stopped. He drove on. I decided that I would stop listening to The Strokes and observe the bus instead. A group of five youths, aged 11-14 were standing up and opening the windows. Three of them had vaginas and two were each the proud owner of a penis. I did not check inside their underwear for this information, I worked it out by looking at their faces. It is only natural for youths to open windows, it gives them a feeling of power, as if to say "Look at me, I am an adult, if I want to open this window I shall". Then, out of nowhere, Mr Cotton Wool Ears emerged from behind the youths. On this occasion, his ears were empty. He closed the windows to his left, he closed the windows to his right. The youths stood back up and said "You smell. It smells in here" and re-opened the windows. For the next few moments the windows were re-opened and closed like out of control machines struck by the millennium bug.

After Mr Ears realised that he was beaten, he let out a roar. His voice was that of a thousand cats screaming in unison. "Drive!!! Drive!!! DRIVE!!!!!!" he yelled. "Tell them to stop. Tell them to stop!!!" Once again the driver stopped the bus.
"What is going on?" he asked. Mr Ears put forward his case and the driver told the youths to stop it.
"But it smells in here" pleaded the leader. The driver was now in a difficult situation, he was clearly inexperienced with such matters and being only a few years older than the youths he had no real authority over them. I, being a vigilante, was tempted to step in and put a stop to this hate crime, but it was only half past four and the sky was not yet black (As you know, real vigilantes can only operate under the darkness of night). The bus was made up of mostly OAPs, I assumed that they would come to aid the man, but they did not. I could not have expected what happened next. The OAPs actually began to laugh, they were on the side of the youth. I can only imagine that he really did smell. I could not smell him for I have a cold.

Mr Ears was clearly outnumbered. Men and women of all ages were united against his desire to keep the windows closed. Then it happened. He began to cry. He put his hands to his face and wept whilst the driver drove on. Now victorious, the youths ran from seat to seat opening the windows. Other adults on the bus began to laugh and joke with the youngsters, this was obviously a bus gone mad. A woman rang the bell to stop the bus. It didn't stop. In the noise and confusion the driver kept going. The woman of approximately 65 years approached the driver and bellowed "Why haven't you stopped? I have been pressing the button again and again. I think you're being distracted by that man. He really is a menace". Mr Ears life could get no lower, he was defeated by the youths, laughed at by his peers and labelled a menace by a woman. He continued to weep. We finally arrived at his stop, but he did not get off, he remained in his seat and cried out all of his sadness.

Poor Mr Cotton Wool Ears. Only on the 116 could this ever happen

Dave, Leicester.

Themes: Buses, Mr Cotton-Wool-Ears, Windows.

94)

In 1996 I had just started comprehensive school. There were new friends to make and also enemies. I was sitting in English one morning and Miss Rawlins was absent, so we had a student teacher instead. Student teachers like to be down with the kids, some even want to get down with the kids. So she brought up the subject of the Spice Girls. "Right! You. Which Spice Girl would you most like to go out with?" she said whilst pointing at me. I couldn't believe the inapproriateness of the question, I was just an 11 year old boy, I had no cares for girls and the comings and goings out with them. The seriousness of the situation was amplified by the class being relatively new and there not being any strong bonds yet. My answer would shape the next five years of my life. If I should choose correctly, I could end up as Head Boy. If I chose incorrectly, I could end up a dead boy. It was just like that scene with the knight in Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade.

My first thoughts were of sporty, football was and still is a sport, would I win over the popular sporty types of the class by picking her? But then I recalled that she was rumoured to be a lesbian, although the thought of a young lesbian is appealing to me now, such a beast would not be to any 11 year old's liking.

Then came, Geri. "Hmmmm, Geri" I thought. She was perhaps my favourite, but I could not risk picking a woman with ginger hair infront of 30 other children.

Then came Posh, "no way" I thought. Nobody wants a posh girl or a girl with brown hair, they like blondes. Naturally I skipped scary for being more monster than human and went straight to Baby. She was blonde, everyone loves a blonde, she was the perfect choice.

"Baby Spice, Miss" I squarked. Feeling that I would now be ok in everyone's eyes, I was rather pleased with myself, but that did not last long. There were immediate cries of "No way", "Get out of it", "Posh is the best". It soon became clear that Victoria Adams was the popular choice. Every single thing that went wrong for me in school for the next five years could be attributed to that one wrong answer. So remember kids, whenever someone asks you which spice girl you want to go out with, don't be a fool, pick Posh Spice.

Alex, Lincoln.

Themes: School, Student Teachers, Spice Girls.

95)

In my comprehensive school the best pupils got given special pens. I was never one for hard work, so I didn't recieve a pen in any of the weekly presentations. I longed for a pen for five years, knowing that it would take mental strength and courage to gain one, two attributes that I do not have. In year 10, my politics teacher happened to be the headmaster aka The Pen Giver. An idea came to me; if I ask him for a pen, he will give me one. I asked. He refused. For two years I asked for a pen. Every Thursday at twenty past eleven, my requests were always met with "you have to earn the pen". At times I felt like doing my homework and doing well in class, which would probably have earned me a pen, but my laziness always prevailed.

My final year of comprehensive school drew ever closer, still I was penless. My final politics lesson arrived, Thursday at twenty past eleven. "Please sir, can I have a pen? Theres not enough time to earn one". Yet again, I met a firm "No". My final day came, I went through the compulsory shirt graffiti, photo taking and book signing. Still I had no pen. The end of day bell rang in my ears, I was to leave this place and never return, I was penless and depressed. I left the science room, bag on shoulder, tie on head. As I strolled up to front gates, I could see a familiar figure standing at the entrance. It was the headmaster. We exchanged our goodbyes and thank yous in a courteous manner. Once the words had run out, he held out his hand and I shook it. He turned and left, never to be seen again, because he moved to Italy soon after. I looked down at my hand, and there was the pen.

Is there a moral to this tale? Does it mean that you don't have to work hard at anything in life? Did I have the courage and mental strength to earn the pen all along and the headmaster saw this is my two years of begging? Was the pen just a metaphor? Did I even go to school that day?

Alan, Dunfermline.

Themes: School, Pens, Persistence.

96)

A lot of people say that your school years are the best years of your life, but then a lot of people combat that by saying "Don't be ridiculous, the years after that are the best years of your life." I'm no expert, but they're probably both wrong, because it'll depend on the person. I am a person, and I can tell you that my college years were the best of my life. My twenties were ok and my thirties were nothing to complain about, but they just didn't live up to my late teens. So, like most men in need of a solution, I came up with a plan. I would go back in time and live in my past. I know the Butterfly Effect is just a film, but the science behind it was solid. "Imagine how much better my best years could be if I'd known everything I know now" I told my neighbour. So I built a helmet which would send me back, but I must have forgotten to carry a zero or something, but it all went tits up. I went back in time, but like an idiot I somehow managed to erase my entire past. To make matters worse I am permanently stuck eight minutes behind the rest of the world. I am literally behind the times. Crossing the road is a nightmare, because when street looks empty there might be a car driving past in eight minutes time which will smack me in the head. I hear people crying in the street about how it takes eight minutes for the light of the sun to reach us on Earth, but it takes me sixteen! I'm missing out on everything.

Johnny, California.

Themes: Time Travel, Best Years of Your Life, Science Accidents.

97)

I was standing at a bus stop this afternoon listening to Clap Hands by Tom Waits on my Zen and by all accounts I was minding my own business, but a man came up to me, pulled out my earphones and said:
"If an ants were the size of humans they'd be able to lift a double decker bus". As if that was supposed to scare me.
"But they aren't the size of humans, are they?" I said "So there's nothing to worry about." I put my earphones back in my ears, but it was no good, the song had already finished.

Jane, London.

Themes: Bus Stops, Tom Waits, Relative Strength.

98)

The first boy I ever got to third base with could tell if a full stop was in italics.

Leah, SW14.

Themes: Blowjobs, Full Stops, Fonts.

99)

Hi, I'm Charlie. People think I'm like all the other stalkers, but I'm not. You'd never find me camping outside Tom Cruise's house or breathing down the phone to Keira Knightley, not yet anyway. I only stalk former celebrities, or current z-list at best. I'm not like other z-list stalkers though, please don't think of me like them. Most of the time I don't even like the person I devote my attention to, so I'm obviously not obsessed with them like the other stalkers are. I don't do it because I've got nothing else to do, I'm a very busy man, but I feel that it's my duty to help my fellow human being. I'm like a Mother Theresa for the Google Earth generation. How do you think a washed up celebrity feels? Sad, very sad indeed. They need the attention and I'm not selfish enough to withold it. Famous people need more love than the average person, that's almost scientific fact. So I follow them, I watch them, and depending on how far the celebrity has fallen from fame, I threaten them, but mostly my threats are empty. All I ask in return is that they become my friend, not my best friend, I'm not delusional, but someone I can turn to in times of need. It seems only fair, but these pampered little princes and princesses don't understand how a relationship works, it's 50/50, I give them attention, they feel better about themselves, maybe even regain the confidence to get back out there in the public eye, but when I need to move a sofa, where's Michael Barrymore? And that's when the threats get real.

Charlie, Farnham.

Themes: Celebrities, Stalking, Friendship.

100)

Oh, Lord. Why? Why? Why? You know that thing when you're walking down a street and someone is walking towards you and your paths are going to collide and you get caught in a left and right dodge vortex? Of course you do, you know everything. You go left, he goes right, you got right, he goes left. Or maybe she's a woman and she goes left and you go right. Where does it end? Just there, for some people. Sadly for me I am cursed, cursed like a Greek. I am so aware of my walking that I spot a potential neverending shuffle from almost a mile off. I have to plan my path a mile in advance. On Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon I have to calculate my next thousand steps in my head or I'll be trampled like a fish. It's like a complicated game of chess, but sadly I'm very bad at chess. I'm ok at Frogger though, but nobody ever won the heart of a beautiful woman by being the Grandmaster of Frogger.

John, Cardiff.

Themes: Chess, Walking, Planning In Advance.

101)

Back in the sixties I had a wonderful idea. It was my only idea of the decade, but it was a better idea than most people get in a lifetime. Moon funerals, funerals on the moon.

Elizabeth, Woking.

Themes: The Sixties, The Moon, Funerals.

102)

Nature's a funny thing, but not in a humourous way. As you probably know, only 0.1% of the rainforests have been explored. It's generally assumed that the cures for all diseases are in there somewhere, but there are more important mysteries hidden away amongst the trees and moss.

A few months ago my girlfriend left me. At the time I didn't see it coming, but I suppose she hadn't been happy for a while. As you'd expect, I was heartbroken. I couldn't eat, sleep or leave the house. My best friend was in Spain when it happened, so it was a week before I had anyone to talk to about it. He told me that my solution could be found in the rainforest. I didn't believe him at first, but he had a speech prepared.

"Nature's a funny thing" he said "but not in a humourous way. We know more about the surface of the moon and the bottom of the ocean combined than we do about the most heavily explored areas of the rainforest. Nature is capable of producing anything. Did you know that there's a plant that grows in the deepest parts of the rainforest which is identical to a scart lead, a fully functional scart lead created through photosynthesis? Almost anything your heart desires can be found in the rainforest, you just have to look hard enough."

"How is that going to help?" I asked "Am I supposed to find an exact plant replica of my girlfriend?"

"No, you'll find a better one."

So off I set on my adventure, if you can call it that. I fought dragons, climbed mountains, defeated a witch in a test of wisdom, ate my own shoelaces and befriended a Chinese speaking gorrilla. For six months I searched for the woman of my dreams. I found many things; an egg which always pointed north, a flower which produced an ever burning light and a box that stored the dreams of dead sailors, but none of these useless items were any use in helping me with my quest.

Eventually I gave up and came back home. I went straight to my friend's house to complain about my wasted journey, but once again he had a speech prepared. He explained that my quest wasn't about finding my dream woman, it was about the search and me growing as a person, something to take my mind off my ex-girlfriend.

"There never was a woman to find" he said. I was gutted.

Giles, Stockton-On-Tees.

Themes: Rainforests, Adventure, Befriending Gorillas.

103)

"Will I ever live to see man and woman playing side by side on the football pitch in a professional capacity?" said the man.

"No" said the doctor "it is generally understood in the medical community that men and women like to have sex with each other. It would never work unless the game time was reduced dramatically or sex breaks were introduced every fifteen minutes." Maybe he was right.

Derek, Somerset.

Themes: Football, Sex, Rule Changes.

104)

Imagine a swimming pool four billion miles deep. You can't do it, can you? Now imagine playing a game of pool where everytime time you potted your opponents ball someone he loved died. You don't want to, do you? The world is not ready for Death Pool in any of its forms.

Sarah, Dudley.

Themes: Pool, Extreme Sports, The World Not Being Ready.

105)

Eight hours of sleep a night, that's all we need. It's important to get the right amount of sleep. Too much sleep can be just as bad as not enough. When most people under or oversleep they just feel tired when they get up. Not me. If I don't get exactly eight hours a night I wake up as an all knowing being who has transcended the physical plain of existence. It's not the end of the world, but have you ever tried driving your kids to school when you don't have any feet?

Jack, Cologne.

Themes: Sleep, Transporting Children, Transcending.

106)

It took me years to create a hit food. You probably don't know me, but I invented the "pig in the blanket". You might not remember the "chicken in a suitcase", but it was very big in Scunthorpe and certain areas of Wigan in the eighties.

Douglas, Southport.

Themes: The 80s, Northern Food, Inventions.

107)

My father always said it wasn't a real threesome unless somebody cried. He was probably right. I was happy to let another man pleasure my wife, because it would have been selfish of me to suggest having two women when there's only one of me. I didn't mind that she put out an advert to find the closest look-a-like to her first husband, because she's never tried to hide the fact that she loved him more than she loves me, and I respect her honesty. It's one of the things that first attracted me to her. He died of cancer in their first year of marriage, so it's understandable that she's never recovered. He was snatched away in the prime of their love. Plus, from what she tells me, I'm only half the man he was, so must have been a great guy, not the kind of person you can just get over with another marriage. The chap we brought in was a really nice fella and he was very sensitive to my wife's needs. He let her call him Steve, which was the name of her first husband and she asked him to wear her husband's clothes. She still had all of them. I kind of like not having space in the wardrobe, because when you live out of a suitcase you don't have to pack when you go on holiday. I thought it would be a nice gesture to not get in the bed with them and she thought so too. It was like a reunion of sorts and they didn't need me spoiling the moment. I must admit that I did shed a few tears when they were really going at it and she asked me to leave the room, but they were probably just tears of joy from seeing her so happy.

Terry, Wycombe.

Themes: Threesomes, Competing With Dead Spouses, Suitcases.

108)

People laughed at Columbus when said the world was round, but that was only because he couldn't pronounce his Rs.

109)

I remember just after The Matrix came out people were going wild for bullet-time. "It's the coolest thing I've ever seen" the kids would say. There was money to be made and I made it my year's ambition to create a gun that fired a bullet so slowly that it was possible for even the fattest kid to dodge it. It was hardwork getting the physics right, so I quit.

110)

Is there anything worse than waking up on Saturday afternoon to find your wife dead and a phonecall telling you that you've got twenty four hours to come up with the money or you'll never see your kids again, but you know that all the banks are closed until Monday?

Dave, London.

Themes: Ransom, Wife Slaughter, Problems Caused By Sundays.

111)

My dad always said you could tell a lot about a man from his handshake. It's that kind of nonsensical remark that makes me wonder how the last generation managed to not destroy the world. Sure, if he kisses or tickles your hand he's probably a homosexual or if he hurts your hand he's probably got big muscles, but I think that's about as far as it goes.

Peter, Salford.

Themes: Handshakes, Fatherly Advice, Muscles.

112)

If I had the speed of a cheetah, the strength of a bear and the sight of an eagle I'd be a pretty good superhero, but as it stands I'm just a man in a cape hoping that nobody is brave enough to call my bluff.

Clark, Detroit.

Themes: Superpowers, Bluffs, Eagles.

113)

Didn't you hate it when you were a kid and you were wanking and experimented with the orgasm? Those were the days. You'd stop just before the end to see if you could prolong the pleasure and you'd somehow mess it up so that nothing would come out. You couldn't wank again for a while, because you thought it was bad for you, so you'd spend the next week paralysed by the fear that you'd permanently blocked your penis up.

Thom, The North.

Themes: Masturbation, Blockages, Being A Kid.

114)

I've travelled the world. I've seen all there is to see. I've not seen much. People go on about cultural differences, but over the years I've learned that all cultures are exactly the same, except for one thing; dogs. Some cultures eat dogs, other cultures don't eat dogs, some cultures worship dogs, some cultures befriend dogs, others don't even know what a dog is. And that, my friend, is all you need to know about the world.

Daniel, San Fransisco.

Themes: Non-Famous Explorers, Cultural Differences, Dogs.

115)

I'd never had much luck with the ladies, so I bought a denim jacket. I thought my troubles would be over, but it was 2007 and denim was long dead.

Sam, Merseyside.

Themes: Gaining Favour With the Opposite Sex, Denim, The Fast Moving World of Fashion.

116)

Back in the 80s I was a very well respected scientist. They called me the David Bowie of the test tube. In my prime I undertook a routine study into fat people. It was my goal to find a correlation between the mass of a person and their take on the five second rule; the rule which decides how long an item of food may be left on the floor before it is no longer acceptable to eat (five seconds being the nation's average). I believed that the fatter the person the longer they would permit a piece of food to remain on the floor before eating it. My findings were just as a I predicted and the graph was a perfectly straight constantly rising line. An average thin person would only eat a sausage if it had been on the floor for less than five seconds. An average ideally weighted person would usually allow seven or eight seconds. Finally a fat person would often eat a sausage which had rested upon the floor for over ten seconds. There were some very extreme cases. For example, a man who weighed 60lbs wouldn't even consider eating food which had touched the floor. Whereas I found men who would eat floor food which had been dropped several minutes or even hours ago. They were very large men, indeed. I decided to take my study further to see how far this rule could be stretched. As I entered into the world of the one hour rule I began to see men who were more beast than man. Soon I wanted to see the men who lived by the twenty four hour rule. They were hard to find, despite their size, but I found them. Never satisified by my findings I wanted more. I wanted to find the holy grail of fat people, I wanted a man with a fortnight rule. I found him, all 450lbs of him, but still I was left empty. As my search for the one year rule raged on for six months I became insane. Finally I found a man who lived by the one year rule and I found more than I had bargained for. He was so fat, that it turned out, like some sort of terrible science fiction twist, he was the world. The man who ate food which had rested on the floor for 365 days was the planet on which we lived.

Dr Phillip Medley, Arkansas.

Themes: Dropping Food on the Floor, Science Quests, Insanity.

117)

There was a beautiful woman on my train today. She was so beautiful that I felt compelled to speak to her.
"Excuse me" I said "I'm sorry to bother you, but would it be at all possible for me to have sex with you? It's just that you're very beautiful and I haven't had sex in a very long time." I could see that I'd caught her offguard.
"Oh... um... How long do you think it would take?"
"Well, as I said, you're very beautiful and I haven't had sex in a long time, so maybe ten, twenty seconds."
"I guess I could do that" she said "Would you like to go for a drink first?"
"Forget it" I told her and walked off. Women can be so clingy.

Duncan, Bridgend.

Themes: Trains, Proposals, Quick Sex.

118)

I'm just a lad. I like beer, tits and football. I've got a subscription to Nuts magazine, but every night I'm woken by the fear that there may be more to life and I'm not becoming the man my father wanted.

Mitch, Surrey.

Themes: Men's Magazines, Parental Expectation, Disturbed Sleep.

119)

"Fuck her" he said "fuck her harder"
"But I don't want to" I told him "It's cold. Can't we just go back inside?"
"The sooner you finish the sooner we can all go back in the house. This'll make you a real man." My dad always had these strange little ways of preparing me for the real world.
"But what if I get her pregnant?" I asked him.
"Nothing toughens a man up like an unwanted pregnancy, my boy, now turn her over."

Johnny, Swindon.

Themes: Life Lessons, Unwanted Pregnancy, Sexual Positions.

120)

When I got my first real job my father gave me a piece of advice; "Don't fall into the trap of Dress Down Fridays. I didn't take you to see Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory for your ninth birthday for the fun of it and I certainly didn't buy you the two disc special edition dvd because I thought it would be a good Christmas present. How does Charlie win the day? He doesn't fall into the trap of keeping the everlasting gobstopper for himself, even though he was quite within his rights to do so. They may ask you to dress down in your new job, when, in fact, they want you to dress up. If you want to get anywhere in this world, my boy, don't fall into the trap of Dress Down Friday." I was at the very bottom of my career ladder and promotion was on my mind, so on my first Friday I walked into my office wearing a tuxedo and top hat. I was fired on the grounds of insanity.

Phillip, West Yorkshire.

Themes: Dress Codes, Films Based on the Books of Roald Dahl, Advice of the Father.

121)

I saw my ex-girlfriend today. We broke up five years ago, the year was 1998 and I'm very much over it. I was hungover this morning and only popping to B&Q to get some screws, and so I didn't bother shaving and just threw an old t-shirt on. She was at the queue buying a Japanese water feature and we had a brief and only slightly akward chat. Straight away I realised that I'd been involved in the worst event in the history of time. I remembered that the t-shirt I was wearing was a Christmas present from her in 1996. This combined with the alcohol on my breath and my unshaven face meant that there was no way I left the conversation without her thinking that I was still very much in love with her and my life had fallen apart because of it.

Oliver, Sunderland.

Themes: Ex-Girlfriends, Misunderstandings, Japanese Garden Ornaments.

122)

Some time ago I decided that there was nothing I wanted more than to own a successful restaurant. I wanted to put the fun back into eating out. I didn't want a pretentious overpriced food prison. I wanted it to be about family and having a good time, so I decided to make it a do it yourself restaurant. There'd be no staff, so the costs were very low. The customers would just come in, cook their food, serve themselves and eat it. It couldn't fail. Somehow, however, it failed. Maybe I shouldn't have given customers access to the till. Maybe I shouldn't have named it "Do It Yourself, You Fucking Cunt". Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

Linda, Clapham.

Themes: Failed Businesses, DIY, Low Overheads.

124)

There's a guy at work who really gets on my nerves. Last week he went on Family Fortunes. Anyway, a while back he told me that 0.4% of people called Clark Kent turned out to be Superman, so statistically if he produced enough sons and called them Clark Kent one of them would eventually turn out to have superpowers and be Superman. I told him that he was an idiot. Sadly for me he had sex with hundreds of women over the next few years and ensured that those who gave birth to boys called them Clark Kent. Eventually the law of averages stuck her ugly head in and one of his sons could leap tall buildings in a single bound, run faster than a speeding bullet and was more powerful than a locomotive. Eager to teach him a lesson, I left my wife and travelled the world to seduce women on five continents. I fathered many a son, all with the name Lex Luthor. Eventually a fourteen year old prostitute in Fuji gave birth to an evil genius and my job was done.

Ian, London.

Themes: The Law of Averages, Superman, Work Colleagues.

125)

I've made some terrible choices in my life, but it's not my fault. I never had the right guidance. What I needed was a mentor, like you see people with in films and tv shows. So I took out an ad in the local paper. Now let me tell you this; taking out an advert for a mentor in the local newspaper is a one way ticket to a bumming. If only I'd had a mentor to warn me.

Nick, Newcastle.

Themes: Mentors, Newspaper Ads, Anal Rape.

126)

I have no problem telling you that I was born with a great big massive silver spoon in my mouth, but it's put me at a tremendous disadvantage. It tore my trachea and I've had respitory problems ever since.

Jimmy, Kent.

Themes: Cutlery, Problem Births, Breathing Problems.

127)

Oh, my penis. Where do I begin? I have a very large penis... some of the time. I am cursed with a reverse penis. Only ten men have ever had one. Hitler had one, Tom Cruise has one and so do I. It gets smaller when it gets erect, which is no good for anyone. If I'm about to have sex with a lady it's almost always erect, so I'm faced with laughter, or even worse a pat on the back and a sympathetic "It's ok". The trouble is when I shower with men they see my huge penis and tell women about it, leaving them disappointed when they see it. Even if I can hold off the erection just before I'm about to have sex with a woman, nine times out of ten she'll be put off by its devastating mass. It's a lose lose situation.

Uncle Billy, Devon.

Themes: Erections, Group Showers, Offputting Genitals.

128)

There's a reason why you have to put your pin number in before you restore the factory settings on your phone, it's a very serious procedure. Not many people have done it, I bet you can't name one. People are too scared and rightly so. I did it once though, because I'm just that kind of guy. It seems that it was cheaper to develop time travel technology than it was to create a reset function, because once you've entered your pin you're sent back in time to correct the mistakes you made on your phone in the first place. I had to relive the past nine months of my life, so I thought I might as well try to sort things out with my future ex-girlfriend while I was then. I was a fool. Just like in that Jean Claude Van Damm film where he polices time, a police man who policed time came knocking on my door. He told me that I had no business messing with time. "Stick to the phone" he told me "Don't you realise how dangerous changing the past is?". I thought I was just going to get a slap on the wrists seeing as it was my first offence, but to teach me a lesson he went back in time and killed my girlfriend's great great grandfather, erasing my girlfriend from the present. It seemed kind of harsh at the time, but I guess I shouldn't have been messing with the past.

Michael, Birmingham.

Themes: Mobile Phones, Hypocrisy, Time Travel.

129)

People seem to like golf at the moment and people will always like winning the lottery, so I'm not ready to admit that the past six years I've spent trying to create a golf club that makes you win the lottery has been a waste of time. Not yet anyway.

Carl, Baltimore.

Themes: Golf, Inventions, Winning the Lottery.

130)

I've always thought that I'm pretty funny, so I hired a film crew to follow me around for a week. Looking back on the footage I see that I'm nothing but a cunt.

131)

Trapped within a prison of my own imagining I sought help in a nearby fishing village. In my desperation I befriended an Ethiopian boy named Gustav. Were in not for Gustav I do not believe that I would be here today. He brought me fish and bread. As days turned into weeks I fell in love with Gustav. When he brought me news that the Peruvian warships were heading to these waters I fashioned a plasma cannon out an old steel ion compressor. Hungry to see the Peruvian emperor in person I clothed myself in some of Gustav's late father's fishing rags and headed to the docks. Amongst the crowd I saw his smiling face. This was not the man who had betrayed me three years previously. Reluctant to assassinate him without answers I snuck aboard his ship. For three months I lay quiet in the cargo hold. When the ship finally surfaced at New Tokyo I ....

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132)

Remember that campaign they had for making disabilities cool? At first I thought it was political correctness gone mad, but when they had David Beckham come out saying that he dyslexia people went mad for disabilities, even me. It was a great campaign. There was a guy in my year at school with Down's Syndrome who didn't have a single friend. The campaign came out on the Friday, he came back to school on the Monday and the girls were all over him. Half the football team started walking with limps. People were going out trying to adopt the most monged up kids they could find. What a crazy six months that was. Everything was back to normal by Christmas, but it's still quite hard to tell if someone is genuinely disabled or they still think being disabled is the in-thing. It's like people with mousetaches.

Richard, South London.

Themes: Disabilities, David Beckham, Trends.

133)

I waited three hours for a bus this morning, but when one finally turned up there were five billion right behind it. Of course there weren't, a lot of time and money is spent creating a system where the buses arrive at different times.

Nancy, Durham.

Themes: Buses, Timetables, Common Sayings Based On Lies.

134)

Two and a half hours is too long to wait for food in a restaurant! It's a fucking disgrace! I've never had to wait that long, but the thought fills me with fear everytime I make my order.

Alistair, NZ.

Themes: Waiting Times, Restaurants, Fear.

136)

In 1984, the year named after the Orwell book, I created a time-pauser. It was made mostly of parts stolen from my video player, as was the style at the time. It was also a pervert's dream. By 1985, pausing time had become an obsession. I was 24, but I looked 35, because I suppose technically I was. Most of my days were spent lifting up women's skirts and rubbing my penis on all sorts of things (mainly the things I found under the skirts I had been lifting) You'll think of me as a monster, but any man in my position would have done the same. Even you. Anyway, my invention was years ahead of its time. In fact, even today it's still hard to find a good time-pauser on the high street. This was to be my downfall. Had I waited twenty years for the release of high definition dvds I would still be pausing time and having my way with the women of the day, but alas, by using VHS as my means for stopping the flow of time, the world has become so distorted over the years that I can barely make out a woman from ten yards away, so great are the lines I see before my eyes, and not even metaphorical lines.

Dennis, Peterborough.

Themes: Book Spin-offs, VHS, Time Manipulation.

137)

I've always been terrible with the opposite sex. I thought about becoming bisexual to improve my chances of meeting someone, but realistically I'd just be doubling the number of people who wouldn't sleep with me, which would play havoc with my self esteem.

Albi, Perth.

Themes: Sexual Orientation, Desperation, Low Self Esteem.

138)

The guy who sat next to me on the bus this morning couldn't understand that if a male twin got his female twin pregnant the child wouldn't make the three of them triplets.

139)

On a routine archaelogical dig I found this terrifying piece of non-fiction scratched into the skull of an ape of some sort.
I was walking down a street, a street I'd walked down a million times before and passed a phonebox, a phonebox I'd passed a million times before. There was a man inside the phonebox and I'd never seen him before in my life, let alone a million times.
"Hey, c'mere a minute" he said. I had many minutes to spare so I went over there a minute.
"Kid, this phonebox what you see before you can go back in time. Not only that, but it can can forwards in time".
"Like in Bill and Ted?" I asked.
"No" he said "exactly like in Bill and Ted." So he invited me back in time. Why not? I thought. It's not everyday you get invited back in time. We went right back, all the way back to dinosaur time. It wasn't like I expected, for starters the dinosaurs weren't as stupid as everyone says. I really clicked with a couple of them. It started getting dark, so I asked if it was time to get back to the future, but the guy said that wasn't part of the deal. At which point he ran into the phonebox and disappeared. To be fair, it wasn't part of the deal and it was my own fault for not checking that I had a lift back. It's not so bad. I guess I'll just live out the rest of my days here.

Terry, Swindon.

Themes: Archaeology, Time Travel, Befriending Prehistoric Creatures.

140)

Trying to trap the wisdom of a fifty year old man in the mind of a four year old child is a serious business.

Sandra, UK.

Themes: Storing Data in the Brain, Danger, Old Men.

141)

You wouldn't think that you'd be able to beat God in an arm wrestle, but, despite all of His achievements, He really doesn't have a lot of upper body strength.

Claire, Blackpool.

Themes: Religious Figures, Tests of Strength, Misconceptions about God.

142)

One day I plan on developing a wine so dry that it will completely destroy every drop of moisture in a human body. In desperation and panic the drinker will head for the medium to sweet, and guess who will have bought up the entire world's supply of non-dry white wine; me.

Bret, USA!

Themes: Wine, Inventions, Panic.

143)

I've always been on the cutting edge of fashion. I can predict trends years before anyone else, even computers. It's a fairly unfulfilling skill. The only good thing to come of it is that in fifty years time when people look back at photos of me and my friends they'll think I was sent back from the future. I think one of my friends knew this and got a bit jealous, because for a brief period he started wearing t-shirts with "I was born in 2047" on them, which was just pathetic.You don't need a diploma in style to know that the t-shirt will have died out by 2030.

Murray, London.

Themes: Trends, The Illusion of Time Travel, Fashion.

144)

It has always been generally accepted that magic gets the ladies wet. Nobody knows why. It's perhaps the greatest mystery of the past five to six thousand years. Sadly it seems that things which are generally accepted to be true are often lies wrapped in the untruth. I'd never had much luck with the ladies, so I bought a pack of cards. I was a natural. Within a month I was able to bend space and time. After I'd had six months to perfect my art I asked a young lady out to dinner. Like a sucker she agreed. After an acceptable to pleasant meal we went and sat on the beach to look at the stars. She seemed to know a lot about the constellations, but she may have been talking out of her arse. As the moon reflected the light of the sun onto her already pale face I could see that she was almost beautiful. I'd never get a better chance to get inside her. I could tell that I hadn't impressed her at dinner and there was little chance of another date, so I pulled out a pack of 54 regular playing cards, including two jokers. I asked her to pick one and then put it back in the deck. Immediately I told her that it was the Seven of Clubs. Confident that this display of the supernatural had aroused her I leant in for a kiss. Maybe it was the garlic on my breath, maybe I'd said the wrong card, whatever the case she pulled away. As my self esteem fell by four points I decided to try some stronger magic. I laid three cards on the sand and asked her to tap on them twice. Upon the final tap the moon turned black and the sky rained blood. Her memories reversed and the sea caught fire. Time folded in on itself and the wind went blind. Positive that I was in, I slid my hand up her skirt. She slapped me right on the face. Women just don't like magic.

Jermaine, Brighton.

Themes: Magic, Foreplay, First Dates.

145)

The first girl I ever dated was six hundred billion years old. I was on a routine archaeological dig in the Arctic when I found her frozen in the ice. After she'd had time to thaw we went for a coffee and a muffin. It turned out that she got frozen a few hundred billion years in the future, then when the universe ended she slipped through a crack in space, so when the universe started again her body was still around in its frozen state at the dawn of time. Time runs in a circle, you see. We went out a couple of times, but eventually the age difference became too much of an issue.

Luke, Crawley.

Themes: Archaeology, Surviving the End of the Universe, Age Differences.

146)

"I won't lie to you" I said "I haven't got any coffee. I don't even like the stuff. I only asked you up here for some so that I could sex with you. Clearly this is already a relationship founded on lies, one which could never become anything meaningful. You can either cut your losses and get a taxi home or come into my room and have sex with me right now, but at this time of night you'd be lucky to find a cab before sunrise." I didn't expect the line to work, I'd have been happy with a handjob, but she said she'd take the sex. I should have known right then that this girl was trouble.

What should have been a typically depressing one night stand turned into a summer love, but without the love and most of the good weather. We were spending pretty much every night together. It wasn't like I even needed the sex. Before I'd met Kate I was having so much sex I barely had time for sex, but there was something about sex with Kate that was different to other girls. You couldn't say you enjoyed it. It was too intense for any modern man to truly enjoy, but you'd cut off your right arm and drill a hole in your head to stop anyone else getting a piece of the pie, so to speak. It was like having a horrible coke addiction, but without all the fun that came from taking the drugs.

When I met Kate se was the head of a massive HR company. When she came home from a busy day at work she'd sit on the sofa and unwind by drinking a can of Red Bull. Sometimes she wouldn't even sit down. That's the kind of girl she was. Between work and all the fucking we were lucky get three hours sleep a night, but I'm not sure if she slept at all. Most nights she stayed at my place, even though it added an extra forty minutes to her journey to work the next day. By Christmas we were more or less living together, but I honestly couldn't tell if she liked me or not. My gut told me that she didn't, but I was willing to play along, if only because I had nothing else to do.

My parents really liked her, even though they didn't know the real Kate. The four of us would go for drinks a couple of times a month. Kate thought it was important that I spent time with my family. "Family's important" she'd say. She always made sure that we went somewhere that served ridiculous cocktails, just to be able to laugh with my mum and dad at the names of the drinks. She didn't even find the names funny, but she knew that listening to fully grown adults laughing at the word orgasm in public made me cringe. She was always doing little things like that to make me feel uncomfortable. She'd flirt with my friends just to make them feel sorry for me. There was no way that she wasn't cheating on me, but I think she liked me enough to not sleep with my closest friends. Even though we barely spent any time apart I knew that she must have been having several affairs. She was too much for one man. It would have been a crime against the world for me to expect to have her all to myself. Kate was the kind of woman that wars were started over in ancient times, and probably a couple of South American countries and most of the African ones today.

The first change I noticed in her was about eighteen months into our relationship; she started making obscure references to German films from the 1930s, films I'd never heard of. I thought we'd reached the beginning of the end and she'd leave me for a film buff, but I woke up one morning and found a note on my bed. She'd asked me to marry her. She didn't have time to ask me in person, because she had an early meeting that morning. It was an important meeting. I'd never really thought about marriage. I think she would have been insulted if I'd proposed, so it was only natural that she was the one to ask. I thought about sending her a text to say yes, but I thought it would be a safer bet to play it romantic and wait until she came home. We didn't have time to throw and engagement party, because she had an announcement to make; as a result of her meeting that morning she had to go to Berlin the next day for six months. Berlin, Germany.

After she'd been away for a two weeks I got an e-mail from Kate telling me that we were on a break, but the wedding would still go ahead on the day after she returned to Britain. Five and a half months later she landed at Heathrow, but she wasn't alone. Whilst in Berlin she'd adopted a child. His name was Zeng. The next day we were wed, but the honeymoon was postponed until Zeng had time to settle in. He never did. It's not that I didn't want children and it's not that I'm in the slightest bit racist, but I'd always assumed that when I had kids they'd be my own and wouldn't be Chinese. Everytime I tried to talk to Kate about Zeng she cut me down. "You can't complain" she'd say "We were on a break when I adopted him" Her defence was inpenetrable.

147)

It was always my wish to become incredibly rich. It's not that I love money, I just wanted a woman to love me for my money. I always feared that I'd find a woman who loved me for my personality and I'd feel terribly guilty about ripping her off, because I'm not very good. At least if I had money I'd know that my money was good and she was getting a fair deal. I never did get rich though, and I was right about not being very good, because I never found a woman to love me for me.

Michael, Swindon.

Themes: Love, Money, Marriage.

148)

At first I thought it was just a bad case of deja vu, but when I woke up in the hospital the doctors told me I'd had a massive heart attack.

David, Wigan.

Themes: Deja Vu, Hearts, Waking in Hospitals.

149)

The best way to a woman's heart is with a screwdriver to the chest.

John, Bristol.

Themes: Hearts, Shorcuts to Love, Tools.

150)

Say what you will about Hitler, but you can't say he didn't have a mousetache.

Jennifer, Norfolk.

Themes: Adolf Hitler, Mousetaches, Freedom of Speech.

151)

When the film crew asked me to sign a release I thought I was giving my permission to appear in the documentary. Little did I know that I was sanctioning the release of Britain's most violent rapist. I didn't even know I was allowed to do that, but I don't know a lot of things.

Graham, Chester.

Themes: Documentaries, Rapists, Early Parole.

152)

Anyone who says that they don't want to live forever is a liar. You can't trust a liar, they tell too many lies. I've always been a big fan of the radio, long wave, short wave, car, shower, clock, all of them. When I die I plan on strapping myself to one thousand radios. If my calculations are correct, my essence, my very being, the stuff that makes me who I am, will be uploaded into the air, the place where radio waves live and dance. In short, I will live forever as a radio wave, hidden amongst the frequencies, trapped within the sounds. From there I will be able to enjoy an eternity listening to songs and phoning up talk radio stations, where as a deceased man I will tell the world what it's like being dead and how things were much better in the Old Days. With a bit of luck I'll get my own Podcast and become something of a celebrity.

Dexter, London.

Themes: Radio, Death, Immortality Through Technology.

153)

Oh, Bill, I've made a right fool of myself. I've just got back from the Christmas party and I'm drunk. I thought that she'd been flirting with me for months, she was always laughing at my jokes, but it turns out I'm just really funny, genuinely hilarious.

Michael, Belfast.

Themes: Letters Addressed to Bill, Christmas Parties, Wrong Impressions.

154)

Statistically speaking you're more likely to die of old age than live forever.

Naymond, Baltimore.

Themes: Hard Hitting Facts, Immortality, Inevitability of Death.

155)

In a bid to dilute life's cruel taste I submerged myself in water for fourty years. When I awoke from my watery dream I was too wrinkled to be called a man and too man to be called a wrinkle. I knew that I could no longer call dry land my home and I had failed to find comfort in the depths of the darkest oceans. My only option was to freeze myself within a block of man-sized ice in the desperate hope that future generations may find a cure for loneliness.

Hal, Ice.

Themes: Suspended Animation, Loneliness, Ambitious Hopes For The Future.

156)

I work on Pluto, but I live on Earth. The commute in suspended animation is a nightmare. By the time I get home from a hard days work it's nearly nine o'clock and everyone I've ever known or cared about has died. But what can you do? The money's incredible.

Carmen, Nevada.

Themes: Travelling to Work, The Motivational Power of Money, Suspended Animation.

157)

Last night a dj saved my life. He didn't have any medical training, so I'm suing him. My lawyer thinks I'm in with a good shot at close to a million.

Chris, Camden.

Themes: First Aid, Law Suits, Trance.

158)

Ex-Boxer, turned Chef, turned interplanetary hitman. I've done a lot of things. I've knocked out heavy weight champions, I've prepared food for kings and I've seduced women in five solar systems. Why am I telling you this? Because I'm your father. Only kidding, mate. I'll call round later in the week to pick the keys up.

Duke, Horsham.

Themes: Pranks, Jobs, Finding Your Father In Later Life.

159)

I'm only 24, but I'm already waiting to die. There's no history of terminal diseases in my family and I haven't got it in the balls to do it myself. I guess time will be my suicide weapon of choice. I must really hate myself, because I've heard it's one of the most painful ways to do it. Somewhere along the line something must have gone seriously wrong. I'm a lonely man, that's what I am. My tombstone will read "Lonely Man". It doesn't have to, but it will. You know your life hasn't turned out the way you'd hoped when you start choosing your checkout at the supermarket by the girl you think is most likely to fall in love with you, rather than shortest queue. There are few things sadder than a crying man, a crying man placing a microwave meal for one on a conveyor belt at half eleven on a Friday night, all in the desperate hope that the woman at the till will see the poor quality lasagne and say "Hey, you must be lonely too! What say we try to wake from this hellish nightmare and get married before it's too late?". Most men go to bars and get drunk. Lonely men get drunk and go to Tesco. Maybe it's because we hope the harsh lightning of the fridges will help people see us for who we really are and take pity on us. A pity-handjob can keep a lonely man going for months.

I remember a time when I didn't spend hours in deep and terrifying thought if a woman accidentally brushed against my hand on the Tube. Did she do it on purpose? Was she trying to get my attention? Ask me out on a date? Was it a cry for help? Is she being held hostage by a violent lover, in a life she'd only pondered in nightmares? It wasn't when I started following these women to make sure they weren't being held hostage that I started to think my life had gone wrong, it was when I started carrying the knife. The knife, my shining sword to set free any damsel in distress. I cannot allow domestic violence. I just wasn't raised that way. If she, whoever she may be, was trapped in a life of pain then I would set her free, even if it meant putting her at peace forever.

Nathan, SE19.

Themes: Lonliness, Misguided Vigilantes, Desperate Love.

160)

I'm not sure why I agreed to go on a date with her in the first place. She was your typical Mighty Boosh fan. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of the Boosh, but being a fan of the Mighty Boosh is different to being a Mighty Boosh fan. You know what I mean? We actually had quite a nice evening and agreed to go out again, but it was always hassle arranging dates with her, because she didn't use days or months, it was all "When the moon is full" and that. Completely contrived and overly theatrical, but I'd heard from someone at school that she goes all the way after a month.

161)

There was a teenage chav chatting to the bus driver on my bus earlier. There's a sign saying not to do that, but the youth of today don't care much for signs. He said "So, drive, is there more money driving a taxi or driving a bus?"
"Bus" replied the driver.
"That's good" responded the chav. It was good. "It's easier as well, is it, because you know where you're going?" I thought the kid was going to carry on by saying

"The way I see it, there are three kinds of people in life; train drivers, bus drivers and taxi drivers. Train drivers have no say in where they're going. They're on tracks. Their whole lives are steady and safe They never need to make big decisions and change and freedom are foreign words to them. They accept their fate. Then there's bus drivers, they're stuck on their route, but as long as they hit their stops they could probably change things about if they wanted. They feel in control whilst being under the control of bus stops. Finally there's taxi drivers, they have the illusion of freedom. They can go anywhere at anytime, but ultimately they're being told where to go by the passengers. Maybe they're in the worst position. I don't know. All I know is nobody is really free in this life. Control is an illusion, some people accept it and stick to the tracks, others think that the roads can lead them anywhere, but roads can only take you where the roads want you to go."

He didn't say that though. He said "Do you wanna buy a Nokia 3310?".

Charlies, West Midlands.

Themes: Buses, Chavs, Stolen Phones at Knockdown Prices.

162)

I've always had a mild suspicion that if I passed a ringing phonebox the caller would be me from the future. Who would know my exact location in the present better than me in ten or twenty years? Lots of people, I suppose, but I'd never had chance to put my theory to the test, because I've never passed a ringing phonebox. Never until today! Ring, ring! Ring, ring. That was the sound I'd been waiting to hear. I rushed to the phonebox, took a deep breath and took the call. It wasn't me from the future though. It was me from the past. He wanted to know where I'd put the disc to Grand Theft Auto. It was in the case for the hit film Anaconda starring Jennifer Lopez and either John Voight or Dennis Hopper. I forget which. I wonder how he knew where I'd be. The only logical conclusion I could come up with is that me from the future told him, but if that's true he could have just asked the future me where the disc was. That must mean that I'm going to forgot where I put it when I get older. Curse my memory!

Ted, Barnsley.

Themes: Phoneboxes, Time Travel, Putting Things In The Wrong Box.

163)

"The thing is, I really like you. At least I think I do. Maybe it's just me that I like when I'm around you. I've been so miserable these past few years, but when I'm with you I can honestly say I'm happy, but I think I'm a bit confused. It doesn't help that your disgustingly beautiful. Knowing my luck I'm probably just really shallow and I only like you because you're hot."

"But you're my teacher" I said.

"Yes, I know. That's what makes it so hard"

"And my uncle."

"And your uncle".

"What do you think my dad would say if he knew you were telling me this?" I asked him.

"I've been more of a father to you than he ever has" he said. I couldn't argue with that, but I was still sure I shouldn't sleep with him.

Jane, Surrey.

Themes: Uncle-Niece Relationships, Student-Teacher Relationships, Love In The Wrong Places.

164)

There's no such thing as ghosts. Only kidding. There are. There's a reason that the souls of the dead aren't forever visiting their loved ones or pestering their enemies; they've all got jobs. The afterlife is an expensive place to live. There aren't a lot of job opportunities for the dead, they don't even have hands, which is why 90% of the formerly-alive work in Ghost Trains at carnivals and such. I know what you're thinking; ghosts trains aren't scary and the ghost don't look real, but that's genuinely what they look like, cheap and plastic.

Steven, Liverpool.

Themes: Ghosts, The Afterlife, Fairground Attractions.

165)

Tom Cruise and I go way back. When I first met Tom back in the early 80s he was only going by the name Tom. I suggested the Cruise part to give him some edge. Back then he had very little edge. I've guided him through his career like an angel of some sort. When he started shooting Top Gun he wanted to do all the plane scenes on a motorbike. "Just launch me in the air" he'd say "I'll stay up. Just watch me." Luckily I convinced him to stick to the plane for the flying scenes. After being cast in Interview With A Vampire, he rewrote the script to include the line "I vant to suck your blood" everytime he bit someone's neck. Luckily I intercepted the script before it reached the director and the movie went ahead as planned. I remember when he got offered the role Ethan Hunt in Mission Impossible, he flat out refused to do it. I told him it would be the biggest mistake of his career, but he said if he played a spy in a film he'd never get to become a spy in real life, because people would recognise him. I had to beg Nicole to talk him around. She was always very supportive of his ideas. I'll never forget the time he wanted to play Jerry Mcguire black. "It's ok" he said "Nobody'll get offended, because we'll get Cuba to play it white." It's not just his work he has a bad instinct for. Before he got with Katie Holmes he wanted to find a really old woman to marry. I told him he'd be better off getting a young one. He wasn't keen, but I said I'd consider it my birthday present if he did. He's a nice guy though, so he still bought me a present that year.

Dennis, LA.

Themes: Tom Cruise, Guardian Angels, Scientologists.

166)

I've never believed in an afterlife, so I've spent my life raping, murdering and stealing. All the fun stuff. I was knocking off a hotel room a couple of weeks back and I found a book on the bedside table. It was the bible. I had a quick look inside and it turns out there is an afterlife afterall and I'm going to be judged for all my wrong doings. I'm bloody gutted.

Benjamin, Liverpool.

Themes: Afterlife, The Bible, Crime (A Life Of).

167)

All the time in the world couldn't fix his broken heart and all the whisky in the land couldn't ease his pain. She broke him. She broke him good. With nothing else to lose he drank a gallon of cement in the desperate hope it would still his beating heart. Fortune did not look kindly upon him that sad day, the day North Korea tested nuclear weapons in a neighbouring field. The cement engulfed his organs, muscles and skin, everything except his heart, a heart forged with nuclear power. He became a man of stone. A statue with an everlasting and broken human heart. Destined to live forever with a heart that pours out sorrow with every beat.

Jordan, Brazil.

Themes: Hearts, Immortality, Effects of Nuclear Radiation.

168)

She had a smile like a chain-link fence, a voice as deep as the ocean and a look in her eye that said she never knew what day of the week it was. Instantly forgettable in a crowd, but, taken on her own, a fine example of DNA going beyond the call of duty. Not beautiful, not ugly. Just a testament to nature's unrivalled skill at genetic engineering. When she said I had until the count of ten I could see she wasn't bluffing, but I could also see the safety was still on. I waited until she got to ten. I'm a patient man. She pulled the trigger and her face went from nought to panic in less than a second. I wrestled the gun from her hands and lunged at her with my shoulders, knocking us both down the concrete steps. As I should have expected, we both got struck by lightning. The forecast had hinted at storms in the east. When I got to my feet I could see that the gun was still in my hand, but my hands were no longer my own. We'd switched bodies. She unclipped the safety and raised the gun to my old head. Bang! It was quite an assumption to think that she'd return to her original body if her new host body was killed and you know what happens when you assume; You destroy your host body and your opponent gets to live on and keep your old body whilst you spend the rest of your life dead. No, wait, that's wrong. You make an ass of u and me.

Alex, Someone Else's Body.

Themes: The Effects of Lightning, Genetic Engineering, Gunpoint (Being Held At).

169)

A man walks into a bar. He's crying. He walks up to the barman, orders a Jack Daniels and Coke, and begins to tell the barman the tale of how he just found his wife in bed with his best friend. After eight JDs he's really sobbing heavily, so the barman puts his hand on the man's shoulder and says "Come on, mate, it'll be alright". The man completely misjudges the situation and leans over the bar and kisses the barman. The barman recoils in horror. "I'm sorry! I'm not gay!" says the man, "I'm just confused". Now, the barman is a sympathetic barman, but he's also an old fashioned barman. He's got no time for gays, same sex marriages and "all that other queer nonsense" as he calls it. As his homophobic hysteria reaches a climax, he pulls a baseball bat from behind the bar and smashes the man on the head with it. Killing him instantly.

Anthony, Wales.

Themes: Baseball Bats, Homophobia, Product Placement in Jokes.

170)

Remember that devastating aftermath that came from Pretty Woman, that hit film that year. Women, pretty and ugly alike, stopped going to bars and clubs to meet men. Instead they took to the streets and brothels in the hope that their first customer would turn out to be a billionaire bachelor on a mission to rescue them from their lives. It rarely happened like that though, and thousands of women found themselves trapped in a life of sex and violence for the rest of their days. Hollywood has a lot to answer for, first Tom Cruise, then this.

Peter, New Jersey.

Themes: Prostitution, Hollywood Distorted Reality, The Films of Richard Gere.

171)

I'm just a working class boy from the streets. I never went to no Chinese
restaurants as a child. The closest I ever got to going out for a meal in a restaurant with my family was when my dad didn't drunkenly beat me unconscious with his belt at the dinner table if we had company. When she suggested we went for a Chinese for our first date I was a little nervous, because I'd never had the chance to learn how to use chopsticks. I wasn't too worried though, because I thought it would set the scene for her teaching me to use them, me getting it wrong and us laughing like idiots as we fell in love like something from a Meg Ryan/Jude Law type film. Sadly life isn't like the movies. When I told her I'd never used chopsticks she looked disgusted. She did't find my failed attempts endearing or amusing either and she lost her patience pretty quickly. When I asked for a knife and fork she spat in my face, but her spit was soon lost amongst my tears (of sadness and shame).

Carl, Stoke.

Themes: First Dates, Eating Utensils, Spit.

172)

The worst thing about being called James Bond is that people automatically assume I'm a spy, which is a pain, because I am.

James Bond, Classified.

Themes: Names, Spies, Assumptions.

173)

It's a common misconception that the Sun is very hot. It's actually very cold. We
get all of our warmth from the body heat of swans. Swans have played a bigger part in history than most people would dare to imagine. Some say that the Queen owns all the swans in Britain, when, in fact, the swans own the Queen. The royal family are mere puppets. There are a lot of myths surrounding swans; the swan song, for example. Nature experts say it doesn't exist. What they don't understand is that swans control nearly all of the music industry (Hollywood too). Turn on your radio and you'll almost certainly hear a song which was either produced, written or inspired by a swan, and so, in that sense, every song is a swan song. There have been times when the cold blooded, bastard reptiles have overthrown our swan overlords, the times which historians have labelled "ice ages". Without the body heat of swans the Earth becomes a fiery ice ball of ice, but our long necked saviours always rise again.

Clive, UK.

Themes: Swans, The Sun, Long Necked Rulers.

174)

I had just one goal in life; to become the first serial killer in Britain to capture the heart of the nation by literally carving out the hearts of nonces and rapists and giving them to orphans in need of a heart transplant. It was a plan that couldn't fail, but fail it did. The Daily Mail said I had no right to break into orphanages at night and perform surgery on unsuspecting children, especially children who already had healthy hearts. Yes, I'll admit that I didn't always get the right child, but that's one of the drawbacks of performing surgery under the cover of darkness. They also said I shouldn't have worn the old hearts as a hat, but what do they know about fashion?

Simon, Brecon.

Themes: Hearts, NHS Transplant Waiting List Shortcuts, Vigilantes.

175)

They say that the average human being swallows two litres of other people's saliva during their lifetime. I didn't have my first kiss until I was 21, because I'm clinically shy. After the kiss I told the girl it was my first, expecting her to laugh, but she didn't. She told me to open my mouth, so I did, expecting another kiss, but, instead, she said "Here!" and spat down my throat. In some ways it ruined the moment.

Nick, London.

Themes: Spit, Kissing, Averages.

176)

"I wouldn't have sex with you if you were the last man on Earth" she said. They were pretty hurtful words. I didn't let emotion get the better of me though and I set about killing every man on the planet. Once I'd done it I approached her again and asked her to sleep with me.
"No!" she said.
"Oh, go on." I said "Look at the effort I've gone to."
"But I said I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth". I had completely misheard her when she said it the first time.
"Shit, I thought you said you would! I feel like a bloody idiot". We carried on chatting and eventually she did admit that I'd gone to a lot of trouble and she felt a bit sorry for me, so she gave me a blowjob in the back of my car.

Robert, New York.

Themes: Last Man on Earth, Serial Killers, Blowjobs.

177)

Having people you work with is great. You get someone to talk to everyday, but when they die you don't have to feel sad. It's win win.

Rachel, Somerset.

Themes: Colleagues, Death, Sadness Covered Up by Denial.

178)

I almost remember the days when there were no mobile phones and if you wanted to call someone you had to remember their phone number. I sort of remember the days before satelite navigation when you had to learn where everything was and remember the directions to get there. Technology took away our need to remember a lot of things. Then apple brought out the ipod feel, which slotted into the brain. It could store up to 50,000,000 songs and 400 emotions. People forgot how to feel. It was good for getting sympathy, because you could bluetooth your grief or and sadness to people, and they could genuinely say "I know how you feel", but there were people who abused the system. Hackers were always cracking people's emotions and sticking them on P2P sites. It's quite unsettling knowing that person sitting opposite you on the tube might be experiencing the the joy you felt at the birth of your first child.

William, London.

Themes: Cyborgs, Emotions, Piracy.

179)

I'll never forget my father's last words; "my only regret is I never won Wimbledon". It came as quite a shock, because he'd never shown any interest in tennis. Maybe he was delirious from the pain, or maybe he'd spent his entire life harbouring this secret ambition, too embarassed to say anything for fear of upsetting my mother.

180)

Sarah, the receptionist in work, was leaving to go travelling in South America, and as her closest friend I was left in charge of planning her leaving do. After a few minutes thought I came up with bowling, just a bit of harmless fun and drinking. There were only six of us in the office, three guys and three girls, so we could have teams. One of the guys, Ian, was always reading bowling magazines. His desk was full of them. One time I had to use his computer for the afternoon and his favourites was full of bowling web sites and there was folder on his desktop with hundreds of screenshots from films with bowling scenes in them. I thought he'd be excited when I told him we'd all be going bowling, but he said "No way, none of you will take it seriously." I told him it was just a bit of fun to see Sarah off, but still he said he would sooner "eat shit" than come. I had a week to wear him down, and finally on Sarah's last day he agreed to come, but only because he'd just bought a new ball that he needed to test and he was going to be there anyway.

We met at the alley at eight o'clock after work. Ian was already there on his hands and knees with a spirit level measuring the lane. He'd brought his new ball, it was black with his signature in silver writing on it. He also had bowling shoes with his initials on the side and he was wearing a bowling glove on each hand. I asked him why he needed two gloves and he said it was in case his arm fell off and he needed to use his other one. I'm not sure what impressed me more, the fact that he'd carry on bowling if his arm fell off or that he thought that his arm falling off was a genuine possibility. Louise suggested we pulled the rails up at the sides of the lane to stop the ball rolling in the gutter. Ian snapped and they both got into an arguement which ended in him calling her a slut. There'd been tension between them for a while, because Ian had liked Louise for ages, but she got off with Geoff at the Christmas party last year. We got a couple of pitchers of Fosters in and we all getting pretty tipsy, except Ian, he'd brought his own water.

We got to bowling and everyone seemed to be having fun. Louise was flirting with Geoff, which I could tell was annoying Ian, because he kept snorting to himself everytime Geoff bowled. Everytime someone threw the ball instead of rolling it, I could hear him mumbling something under his breath about dents in the wood. After five frames Ian had five strikes and had the most serious expression I've ever seen on a human face. By the sixth frame he was listening to his mp3 player and refusing to speak to anyone. By the seventh he was wearing sunglasses and sitting on his own on the empty seats on the next lane over. We got to the last frame and I had 74, Sarah had 56, Louise had 99, Geoff had 117, Stephanie had 120 and Ian had 270. Geoff asked him if he'd every bowled a perfect game before. Ian removed his sunglasses and said that he hadn't. There was a look in his eye, a look of desperation and panic. "Well, good luck, mate." Just before it was his turn, Ian said he needed the toilet. He'd drunk a lot of water. Five minutes passed and he still hadn't returned. We waited a few more minutes and there was no sign of him. I went to the toilets to see if he was ok. There was no-one at the urinals, so I called out his name. "Ian!" I yelled. No answer. There was only one cubicle and the door was closed, but it wasn't locked. I gave it a gentle push. As the door swung open I saw the walls covered in blood. There sat Ian, pale and motionless. He'd slit his wrists.

Jez, Horsham.

Themes: Bowling, Staff Parties, Suicide.

181)

The press were calling me the new Scorcese, and I wasn't even making films, I was just driving a bus. They said the partnership I had with my conductor Reggie was one of the most powerful in transport history. He was my De Niro and Di Caprio all rolled into one. I didn't believe any of it, but it was hard to not get caught up in the attention, and the parties, and the women, and the drugs, but at the end of the day I just wanted to get my passengers to their stops on time. I started on the 82A route in 1988, and drove it for nearly eight years. People say it was my Raging Bull, but I'm not so sure.

Michael, London.

Themes: Buses, Martin Scorcese, Legendary Partnerships.

182)

Love finds us in the strangest places. People want to fall in love on hilltops and frozen lakes, but they rarely do. Despite their best efforts to live a life of hollywood romance, most people just fall in love in prison, or a carpark if they're lucky. That's just how post-industrial revolution life goes.

A few years back I was made redudant and I spent my months of unemployment wandering the streets in a terrifying and depressing daze. I'd find myself at the beach, not knowing how I got there. I'd awake in treetops, bars and mountainsides without shoes or socks. Nobody can prepare for the horrors of unemployment until they've lived it.

On one cloudy September day I found myself in an arcade playing on the 2p machines. I must have put over fourty quid into one of them in the half-hearted hope that I'd win enough money to make up the difference between my dole and my rent. It was perhaps my worst ever investment.

As I went to leave the arcade something caught my eye. It was one of those grabber machines. Thinking that I should at least win a prize to have something to show for my wasted afternoon, I strolled over to it and inspected the treasure within. There was just one prize in there; me. The whole thing was a miniature model of the arcade with a lifelike replica of me looking at a scaled down grabber machine. At first I thought that maybe I'd died and I was looking down at my dead body. Then I thought that maybe I'd turned into God and was looking down on the world. Then I thought that maybe I'd always been God, but I'd only just worked it out. It was none of these things. There was a sign on the side of the machine which said "This machine accepts £1, 50p, 20p, 10p and the souls of the dead." All I had left were two pound coins. The change machine in the corner had an out of order sign stuck across its chest and, according to another sign, the cashier had gone out for lunch. I swore to myself that I would not be beat by currency. Not again.

I ran as fast as my shoeless feet could take me to the nearest newsagents. There was a foreign lady at the till who greeted me enthusiastically, but would only give me change if I bought something. I bought a single Hamlet cigar, although I've never smoked in my life. There's no doubt that having it behind my ear gave me more character though.

As I dashed back to the arcade, careful not to lose my cigar, I could see the silouette of a figure standing at the grabber machine. The silouette belonged to an attractive woman with a terrible haircut. I stood beside her and we both looked down into the machine. There we were, as small as we were tiny. My duplicate now had a cigar behind his ear which was no bigger than a cocktail sausage and was standing next to a toy woman with bad hair. The woman turned to me and smiled. She put 30p into the machine and the claw sprang to life. As it dangled over her head, she turned to me again, thought about something for a moment and then moved the claw over my miniature double's head instead. Down it came. Oh, the pain. It felt as if a hundred javellins were piercing my heart. The claw ascended with me in its grip. The tiny me, with a face paralysed with fear, was dragged to the claw's resting place above an ominous looking hole. There he was released to fall into the abyss. The woman sank to her knees to claim her prize, but there was no door or hole to put her hand in. The entire machine was sealed. There was no lock on the glass to slide it open and no screws on the base to take it apart. As the woman got to her feet again I had no idea what had just happened, but there was one thing I was certain of; I would love this woman until the day I died.

Les, Wycombe.

Themes: Unemployment, Love, Amusement Arcades.

183)

There was a lot of negativity surrounding Lego in the 80s. You couldn't find a bus station toilet that didn't have "An impressive Lego collection is no substitute for a wife" or "There's more to life than Lego" scribbled on the walls in faeces, blood or worse. God knows why though. It was rumoured that it was all started by Mechano, but I used to live near a guy who worked for Mechano and he said it wasn't them.

Hugh, Windsor.

Themes: Lego, Smear Campaigns, The 80s.

184)

We've all fallen into the trap of being a young boy and thinking our father is the greatest man on the planet with the hairiest chest and biggest mousetache, but as we grow older we slowly see that he's not much more than a cunt and a scoundrel. My dad's no cunt nor scoundrel though, he's the greatest hero of the 20th century. My dad was the first person to ever get drunk and mess about. Before him, alcohol and drinking was a serious and melancholy affair. He was the first man to put a traffic cone on his head and the inventor of being sick in a pint glass. Before my dad people never had fun when they were drunk, they just did that thing you do where you're sitting in a pub after four or five pints, not really listening to anyone, wondering what the point in your existence is and whether or not you should smash your glass on the table and cut your wrists open right then and there. He put a stop to most of that on the fateful day when he got up on the table, pulled down his trousers and shouted "Barmaid, get yer tits out!".

Malcom, Aberdeen.

Themes: Alcohol, Messing About, Great Moments in History.

185)

From what I can remember, the 2030s were dominated by the re-emergence of the space race. In place of the USA and Russia were Tesco and Sainsbury's. Who would be the first to put a supermarket on the moon? It seemed inevitable that Tesco would succeed, especially after their triumph in 2026 when they installed a Tesco Express on the Mir Space Station. But with all the attention focussed on the two giants nobody could have expected Iceland to jump in at the last hour and claim the victory. It was of little use though, the moon was uninhabited, and always would be. Iceland dissolved within the year.

Julian, Sunderland.

Themes: Space, Supermarkets, Races.

186)

On my many travels through the known galaxies I have seen many things; people made of trees, trees made of people. On one planet I discovered a race of intelligent lifeforms with a lifespan of just one day, which was the equivalent to just eighteen Earth hours on Earth. I fully expected that they'd spend their short life by making the most of their time, setting aside their differences and experiencing every possible joy whilst furthering their civilisation for the next shortlived generation. They certainly had no concept of war or hate, but only because they spent their entire lives curled up on the floor paralysed by grief as they cried themselves from birth to death at the thought of their cruel fates. If you're wondering how they reproduced, I will tell you that evolution made sure that they would pass on their dna through tears, honest to god tears.

Captain Royce Dandrick, The Zendron Colony.

Themes: Space, Lifespans, Crying.

187)

There once lived a man with a vey special gift. He spoke a language understood by no man. He could talk to bullets. He could talk them right out of the air. He feared no gunman, but on the 7th of December 1949 he was stabbed to death by a mugger in a deserted alley in New Orleans.

Julie, Gillingham.

Themes: Obscure Languages, Stabbing, People Who Share The Birthday of Tom Waits.

188)

I'm an old romantic. I once spent a month training a hundred butterflies to carry rose petals. On valentine's day I commanded my winged servants to fly into my girlfriend's bedroom and each drop a petal on her bed whilst she was sleeping. It was a disaster. I knew she was afraid of moths, but I didn't realise that she wouldn't be able to make the distinction. Looking back I should have realised that being mobbed by a hundred butterflies would have been enough to send most people into a panic attack, just because of the sheer number of them. It's a bad thing to wake up to, I suppose. To make matters worse, the petals attracted a herd of African killer bees, but they were no ordinary African killer bees, they had been infected with radioactive nuclear energy, enhancing their stinging ability tenfold. In her panicked state she angered the bees, forgeting her lifelong allergy. Thousands of them swarmed her room, stinging her without regard for what should have been a day of love. She died moments later. Her favourite film had always been My Girl and she always cried when Mcauley Culkin's character died from bee stings, while I'd laugh at her for crying over a kids film. I like to think that she at least appreciated the irony of her being stung to death by bees as I cried outside her window, but the doctor said she would have been in too much pain to appreciate anything.

James, London.

Themes: Butterflies, Valentine's Day, Death (By Bees (Radioactive))

189)

Dear Diary,

I went sofa shopping this afternoon. I only wanted a small two seater one, nothing too fancy, because, as you know, I live alone, because, as you also know, people hate me. The salesman was a nice young man, very stylishly dressed, but also Scottish. He insisted I bought the biggest and deepest sofa he had, which was also the most expensive. I explained that it was out of my price range, but he said
"You've got to see this as an investment. A sofa is a money making machine. What happens when you sit on a sofa? Money falls inside it. Pull back the cushions and you will find nothing less than money It scientific fact. And who will the money belong to? You, of course, it's your sofa, check the laws. The bigger and deeper the sofa, the more money will fall into it. It's common sense. You've got to see a sofa as a net, the bigger the net the more money you'll catch."
"Like a hammock?" I asked.
"No" he said "Nothing like a hammock. A hammock would not retain any money. A hammock is a terrible investment."
Eventually he talked me round and I said I'd take the biggest sofa, but luckily my credit card was declined. I did make love to him in the backroom before I left though.

Charlotte, Leeds.

Themes: Sofas, Investments, Scottish Sales Reps.

190)

Bending space and time is just like bending a branch. Bend it too far and it will break. You have to imagine the space/time continuum as a tree, every leaf is a year and the bark is all the matter in the universe. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I'll tell you one thing; if you ever see me atop a tree with no clothes on screaming "I've doomed us all", you'd best run.

Bradley, Arizona.

Themes: Trees, Space/Time Continuum, Naked Screaming.

191)

Motorbikes.

Charlton, LA.

Themes: Cool Things, Vehicles With Two Wheels, Gifts Wished For At Christmas.

192)

He had the eyes of a shark, but a sarcastic one. He had a voice for silent movies, but people liked listening to him. His opinions and views were all wrong, of course, but he had enough charm and confidence to make you think otherwise at the time. It wouldn't be until an hour later when the conversation had finished and you were sitting at home that you'd realised he didn't actually have anything worth saying. He got married when he was 18 to a girl named Melissa. He'd always introduce her as his lesser half. She'd always smile, but you could tell she didn't like it. He cheated on her weekly, but said he was always thinking of his wife when he did it and you'd genuinely believe him. He'd say "Melissa is the ultimate woman. She's everything a woman should be. Every other woman is a flawed copy of her, she's the original Mcdonalds at the head of the woman franchise. I simply dine at other outlets from time to time to help me appreciate the historical and social importance of the original." He said he'd never read a book, but his house was full of them. He'd make really obvious statements like "Nothing warms you up like a fire" and deliver them as if they were Ancient Chinese proverbs. He wore shirts, but never ties. He'd never left Britain, but he spoke five languages badly. He broke his Spurs supporting father's heart by supporting Arsenal, but always wished for a draw when the two teams met. He was my friend and I miss him.

Michael, Bethnal Green.

Themes: Funeral Speeches. Adultery, North London Derbies.

193)

The critics were his biggest critic. They hounded him from day one. "You're a one trick pony" they'd cry in the streets, the papers and his home. Still, even if you've only got one trick, being able to teleport is still pretty impressive, especially for a horse.

Nikki, Preston.

Themes: Unfair Criticism, Horses, Teleportation.

194)

I'll tell you what I told the judge, yes, she does look thirteen, but have you spoken to her? I've never met a girl like her. Find me a someone over sixteen who knows more about 17th Century French art or what it feels like to be alone and I'll eat my fucking hat. She told me she was thirty four and I believed her. She said she had the opposite of what Tom Hanks had in Big. She was shrunk down by a carnival wish machine, for Christ's sake! Why wouldn't I believe that? It's my favourite film.

Jules, Sidmouth.

Themes: Underage Sex, The Films of Tom Hanks, Hat Eating.

195)

Back in '95 I heard in a schoolyard that rain was God having a piss. I was only eight at the time and had no reason to disbelieve. I won't tell you what the kids were saying about snow. It was disgusting. Anyway, as I grew wiser I learned that rain wasn't divine urine at all. Those kids had punked me.
Anyway, last year I went on a hot air balloon ride with my girlfriend. It was raining, but it didn't ruin the day. I told her the story about how I used to think that rain was God's piss and she told me that in her school they used to say that rain was God's tears. I told her my school's take on rain was better and more real, because God probably didn't cry. As we sailed through the air in a big red balloon the engine thingy malfunctioned and overheated. It sent us higher and higher, until eventually we were too high. We'd gone so high we reached Heaven. There was a man sitting on his own on some steps. He was crying. My girlfriend and I got out of the balloon and went over to see if he was ok.

"Are you ok, mate?" I asked. I had startled him, making him jump to his feet as he tried to wipe his tears away before he looked at me. It was too late though, I'd already seen them. His nametag said God, but most of the d had faded away.

"Why are you crying?" my girlfriend asked.

"Oh, it's nothing" he said.

"Go on" I said "you can tell us. What's wrong?"

"No, it's nothing" he said "Leave it. I'm fine." trying not to look me in the eye.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm alright. I'm fine, it's nothing."

"Ok then, we'll leave you to it then" I said. And we left. As we got back into the balloon I could see that he'd sat back down on the step and was crying again. Despite what he said, there must have been something wrong, people don't cry for no reason. Maybe he just didn't want to say anything in front of my girlfriend.

Jason, Bristol.

Themes: God, Hot Air Balloons, Schoolyard Science.

196)

If there's one word that can sum up the early 21st century it's "Five a day". People went crazy for that shit. All a con, of course. A conspiracy of sorts between the government and farmers. Little did people know of the damage a vegetable can do to a man's DNA. When a man eats more plants than animal he becomes less than a man, more than a plant, not quite a machine, but something altogether terrifying. People were filled with too many vitamins, the vitamins reacted with newly popular wireless internet waves and the rest is history. The next generation had leaves for hair and could carry out google searches in ther subconsious mind as they slept.

Judy, UK.

Themes: Vegetables, Wi-fi, Search Engines.

197)

It became very fashionable to name your child after the place where he or she was concieved. The most high profile one of the early days was Brooklyn Beckham. He was quite the character. It encouraged the working class to go beyond the names of current popstars. No longer would schools be filled with the Kylies or Britneys of the day. Class registers were full of Car-Park, Alley-Way and McDonalds Toilet. Like most thing it went out of fashion for a while, but then we started to conquer and colonise the universe in the early 23rd Century. After Tom Cruise VIII named his first child Jupiter, place of conception names were once again the rage of the masses. It wasn't long before <(Sector 7-XG) of the Quandrax:8i Colony> was the most popular name for a boy and you couldn't help but feel that the English language had lost some of its romanticism.

Chico, Space!

Themes: Names, Trends, Human Colonisation of the Universe.

198)

I tried my hand at standup comedy back in 2009. I wasn't very good. I had one bit where I talked about political correctness gone mad and how eventually we wouldn't be able to call it standup comedy, because of people in wheelchairs. It was the main part of my act and it was pretty much my only material that got a good reaction from audiences. Then the government said we couldn't call it standup comedy anymore, because of people in wheelchairs, and my joke wasn't a joke anymore, just me talking about an event happened. So I quit and went into real estate. It was a good time to get out, because the political correctness gone mad really had gone quite mad. It wasn't long before you couldn't call it comedy or do jokes anymore, in case it offended people who didn't have a sense of humour.

Phil, London.

Themes: Standup Comedy, Political Correctness Gone Mad, A Career in Real Estate.

199)

Back in the 1850s I was a plain old nobody. Just a man in a tophat. If I asked someone on the street who I was they had no idea. A couple of friends could put a name to my face, but that was about the height of my fame. That all changed when a man handed me a leaflet. I'd been given my fair share of leaflets in my time, but very few had captured my imagination likes that one.
"Do something amazing;" it said "Drink blood". I didn't realise it at the time, but there had never been anything I wanted to do more than become a vampire. Back then, being a vampire really meant something. We were respected, feared and mysterious. Who knew what we'd do next? One day we'd be slaughtering entire villages, the next we'd be trying to destroy the world. There was a quiet dignity in it.

Then, in the late 20th century, something called Buffy the Vampire Slayer changed everything. It completely ruined the way people saw us. It became cool to be a vampire, sharp teeth and a leather jacket. Quite incredibly, the show gave us feelings. Feelings, for Christ's sake! People expected us to be deep and troubled. When all we wanted to do was rape and pillage. There were a few among us who even played up to it and started pretending to show remorse for their crimes. It was a travesty to the bad vampire name.

All of a sudden it became fashionable to be seen with a vampire. You couldn't go to an award ceremory or film premiere without seeing an A-List celebrity with a vampire on her arm. People wanted their photos taken with us, they wanted us to speak to their friends on their portable telephones, give after dinner speeches, all that nonsense. In short, we sold out. Worst of all, it brought immortality to the working class. They'd seek us out and beg for us to turn them. I never did, but not all vampires were as strong as me. Once we let the builders and the taxi drivers in, being able to call yourself the undead no longer had any meaning.

William, West London.

Themes: Vampires, Selling Out, The Effects of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the Real World.

200)

Being the Anti-Christ is no piece of cake. People are always judging me before they've even met me. Then they expect too much from me and can't look past the name. They want me corrupting the hearts of men all the time and I end up doing it just to please them, when all I really want to do is cook. That's my real passion.

The Anti-Christ, Bradford.

Themes: An Interest In Cooking, Preconceptions, Corrupting the Hearts of Men.

201)

It's become a bit of a cliche to say that two cowboys lost at sea during wartime will inevitably fall in love. It's not true in every case. There was once a time when I myself was a cowboy, but in my defence I didn't know any better. It was 2003 and we'd just invaded Iraq. I found myself trapped on a raft in an unknown ocean with a fellow cowboy named John. We were both the straightest of heterosexuals and neither of us harboured any supressed homosexual feelings of any kind. Within three hours of being on that raft we entered into what many would call a 14 month love affair, but anyone who would call it that would be wrong. Yes, we'd kiss, cuddle, make love and talk about how much we cared for each other, but it was nothing more than an elaborate game of Gay Chicken. Neither of us wanted to be the first to say "Hold on there, I'm not gay" for fear of being labelled gay. We captured a seagull and raised him like a child.

Hank, Texas.

Themes: Cowboys, Gay Chicken, Lost at Sea.

202)

He was of the belief that two hours was better spent watching forty trailers than one entire film.
"Trailers these days show all the best bits anyway" he'd say. "Why waste two hours?" So he spent everything that his father had left him and started a cinema which only showed trailers. Between its opening in 1997 and its closing in 2001, not a single customer walked through its doors.

Angela, London.

Themes: Failed Businesses, Cinemas, Inheritance Put to Bad Use.

203)

"You're on fire, mate." he said.

"Not literally, though?" I asked.

"Yes, literally!" He said. "Look at your arm" As I looked down I could see that he was right. It appeared that the fire had started somewhere around my wrist and had slowly moved its way up towards my elbow, leaving my hand burnt to a crisp, and not looking too disimilar to a giant crows foot, if such a thing exists.

"That's strange." I said. "I wonder why it isn't hurting" I thought aloud.

"But I think it is hurting, mate. Look at your eyes! You're crying". I gazed into the mirror that he was holding in front of my face and sure enough there were tears falling down cheeks in quick succession.

"That's weird" I said. And do you know what? It was weird.

Arnold, Peterborough.

Themes: Fire, Reflections, Informative Strangers.

204)

I'd always wanted a jungle son, a son who could talk to the animals and swing through the trees like a sharp knife through yesterday's butter. I gave my first born to the bears. They tore him to shreds. I gave my second to the wolves. They were worse than the bears. My third I gave to the monkeys, who took him in with long and open arms. Sadly they dealt him a fate worse than battered to death by wolves or bears. A boy raised amongst monkeys is a boy raised without discipline. A monkey man would never become prime minister. After my fourth son was eaten by a lion, my wife said enough was enough. It wasn't enough though, and I decided that the bears deserved a second chance, but my fifth son was dealt an even bloodier death than my first. It was at his funeral that I finally accepted that I would never father the king of the jungle.

Jack, Dorset.

Themes: Tarzan, Outliving Your Children, Death By Animal.

205)

I was recently sacked from my job as a waiter, because I ate or "stole" as my boss called it, too many chips from the kitchen.
"But I only eat the biggest chips!" I told my boss.
"That's even worse" she said. She couldn't understand that my reasons were greater than hunger. I was providing a service to our customers by eliminating the biggest chips.
"Imagine" I said "a couple on their first date, dressed in gowns and tophats. Shy, excited and terrified. Impressions of the first kind are being made. Very important impressions. Lifechanging ones. What happens when a man or woman looks down at their plate and sees a giant chip? It's scientific fact that he or she will instinctively say "Look at the size of that chip!". Imagine saying that on a first date! The relationship would be over before it had even started."
It was no use though. She'd never liked me from the start and this chip fiasco was just what she needed to get rid of me. The fucking bitch.

Tom, London.

Themes: Getting the Sack, Cupid, Chips.

206)

You probably dont know me. I've gone by many names. In the late 80s I was fresh out of Oxford University with a masters in particle physics and had my heart set on conquering the world. I began my journey in America, home of the stuff. After a series of unrelated incidents I found myself working under the name John Lomack and producing and directing hardcore pornography. I quickly became disillusioned with the American porn industry. I wanted to do something more. I wanted to make a name for myself, a name bigger and better than John Lomack.

I became Jean Lemaque. I wanted to put the class back into porn. I wanted my films to have heart. I wanted them to ask more questions than they answered. I wanted them in black and white, in French, with subtitles. I wanted to combine art with sex in new and pretentious ways that left the viewer more heartbroken than aroused. I wanted to put the deep in deepthroating. My vision didn't last long. America just wasn't ready. My main problem was that I couldn't find any American pornstars who would speak French, and so, I had to bring in real French actors. Americans like their steaks cooked and their pornstars American. They don't like to watch a Frenchman making love. The French have too much passion. It makes the average American feel inadequate.

However, it wasn't a total failure, it gave me another idea. If the average American didn't want to feel inadequate I would make a new kind of porn, a porn that hit close to home. I changed my name to Johnny Lomark and started making porn with real people from the real world, builders and stuff. I pioneered the amateur porn market, although any historian would tell you something quite different. I wanted blue collar men, white collar men, any man with a collar making love to a terrible standard. I made films where the men struggled to get an erection. I made films where the sex stopped halfway through because of an arguement. I made films where the women flat out refused to have sex. I single handedly almost injected some confidence back into the American male, but this venture was an even bigger flop than the biggiest floppy cock from my films. Porn needs sex. I know that now.

Disillusioned with the direction porn was headed, I changed my name to Jon Lomax, and tricked my way into Hollywood. I devised a plan to bring porn to the masses, back on the big screen. I wanted big budget popcorn movies with enough hardcore sex to kill a rhino. I single handedly invented a new genre of film; Cockbusters. The premise was simple, I'd make a two hour film, a film of two halves. The first hour would be a typical epic blockbuster with alien invasions, deadly virusus, futuristic wars against man, machine and animal, which would always lead to the exact same point on the hour mark, a scene where all is doomed and the characters have no option but to utter the line "Oh, no! The world is going to end!", kickstarting an hour of gruelling orgy upon orgy as the characters live out their final moments in sexual bliss. The key was to make the first hour as important as the last. The world ending was no shortcut to the sex. This wasn't a plumber coming to fix a pipe. I wanted to make real films. Massive films. In a bid to make a name for myself, I made the first one five times bigger than I needed to. There was breathtaking CGI coming out of everyone's arse. Not literally though, that didn't happen until the second half and we didn't use CGI for that. It cost $250,000,00, but grossed just $200,000 worldwide. My name was ruined.

Carl Peterson.

Themes: Porn, Changing Names, Post-Graduate Adventures.

207)

Be suspicious of any passionate bus driver. You should always be cautious with people who care about their job anyway, but a bus driver even more so. There was a particularly enthusiastic bus driver in my town back in the late 90s. He really cared about the buses. There are people who care about buses, and there are people who care about buses. He was the latter. The buses were his life. They were his wife. His home, church and something else that I don't even understand. His main gripe was OAPs, old folk and that. He said their free bus passes were a drain on the company's resources. Like most passionate people he turned to a life of multiple homicides. He was the second biggest killer of pensioners in my town, losing out only to pneumonia. He used to drink at the same pub as me, and we'd chat every so often. I told him what he was doing didn't make any sense.
"If the people are dead, they can't put money into the buses anyway." I said. But the thing with serial killers is they rarely listen to reason. I think he thought his killings would act as a deterrent for people growing old. There was a subtle genius in it. It certainly struck fear into the hearts of men and women. 65th birthday parties were now melancholy affairs, because certain death became quite certain. I remember the last time I saw him was the day before he turned 65. We were in the pub and I bought him a pint to wish him a happy birthday.
"Not much happy about it" he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"I'll have to kill myself, won't I?" He explained that he'd have to kill himself to show he was serious about what he'd been doing.
"You could just not get a bus pass" I told him, but he looked at me like I was crazy. That was the last time I saw him.

Adam, Somerset.

Themes: Buses, Serial Killers, Work Pride.

208)

People said she was a beautiful, like a rose or something, but, to be honest, I found her offensive to almost all five senses. She always smelled surprisngly fresh, like mint or pine or something. She never thought for herself. If she went shopping and someone had left their shopping list in the trolley she'd end up buying everything on there. She always said that no matter what she accomplished during her time on Earth, if she got killed by a snake she would consider her life a complete failure. She'd buy those magazines that are always advertised on tv, the ones that cost 99p for the first issue, but cost £4.99 thereafter and teach you about Egypt or some bullshit and come with a handpainted figurine. "I'll get them all" she'd say, and I could tell she meant it, but come issue two she'd lost interest. Her garage is still full of them. Kissing her was strange. The only feeling I can compare it to was being in the girl's toilets in school. You knew you shouldn't be there, you were completely overwhelmed by the situation, but wanted to act like it was perfectly natural, completely cool, because you did it all the time, but god knows why you had to pretend you were always doing it. Nothing scared her more than people clapping along to a song. I'm convinced that if you cut her she would have bled the word evil instead of blood, like alphabet spaghetti, but just the letters E, V, I and L. I can't say she was my friend, but I miss her and I'm sad that she was killed by a snake.

Greg, Southampton.

Themes: Funeral Speeches, Death By Snake, Perfume That Smells Like Magic Tree Air Freshener.

209)

He said that he wanted go his whole life without having an orgasm, but wouldn't tell me why. At first he wouldn't listen when I tried to explain that he'd end up doing it in his sleep, but eventually I got through to him and he admitted that there'd come a time when his balls would be out of his control, when he was at his most vulnerable, and so he vowed to never sleep again. He was young and young people are always making claims like that. Never in all my days did I think he'd go through with it. We discussed the best way to achieve his goal; either drinking lots of coffee everyday or a life's worth of coffee to start with. The latter seemed like the best option. He drank 20,000 espressos in one hour, putting him straight into a coma. When he awoke a week later he was relieved to learn that he hadn't had a wet dream. I'd given my self the role of Chief Penis Watcher, checking it on the hour, every hour, often using ice to reduce his erections. With 24 hours of everday at his disposal, he did a lot with his life, roughly 40% more than the average man. I could give you his life story, but the tale is long, too long to tell right now. Anyway, as he lay on his death bed he turned to me and said

"Maybe I should have had an orgasm"

"You're probably right" I said.

"It's not too late, is it?" he asked.

"No, close your eyes and relax." I told him, as I slipped my hand down his pyjama trousers. He looked so different with his eyes shut. It was such a rare sight. For five, maybe six minutes I wanked him off the best I could. That was all he needed, because I soon found my hand warm and sticky.

"Mmmmm, that was nice" he said as he opened his eyes to look at me. "Maybe I made a huge mistake".

"I think you did" I said, but it was too late, his eyes had closed for just the second time since his coma. He was dead. Parents should never have to outlive their children.

Gloria, South London.

Themes: Orgasms, Incest, Outliving Your Children.

210)

I always said that winning the lottery would never change me. How right I was. Too right, if anything. Winning £124,000,000 on the European Lottery sent my body into hyper-shock. It was as if all the cells I needed for ageing went into a coma. A dead coma. I became immortal. I would forever walk the earth in expensive shoes.

It was all well and good for the first few years. I travelled the world with my beloved wife, living each moment as if it were my last, knowing that such a moment would never come. As she began to age, I began to curse my luck. She would be gone, and I would remain forever.

Fifty years after her death I fell in love again, but history repeated itself once more. Two thousand years after winning the lottery I'd had over one hundred brides, spawned hundreds more children and become a grandfather to thousands. All of whom I watched grow old and die.

I had recieved more love in my lifetime than any man, but my heart had felt lonliness unlike any other. I decided that I could not go on living this way. I had to do something. I was the richest man in the world afterall. I spent billions trying to create ways to keep my wives alive. At best I prolonged their lives by fifty or sixty years, just a raindrop in the ocean of my life.

As the millenia past I grew more desperate to find a queen to live at my side for all eternity, for I had become king of the universe. I would spend my grieving periods after the death of each wife travelling alone across the galaxies, telling myself that I could not put myself through another marriage cut short by natural death, but as the years past it was always impossible not to love again. Time heals all wounds, and, sadly for me, I had it in abundance.

I sank more and more money into crazed plots and potions to bring everlasting life, until one day I had nothing left, a problem soon made redundant, for I was the last man in the universe.

Colin, Earth.

Themes: Last Man in the Universe, Immortality, EuroMillions.

211)

I've been sacked from my job again. I was a jockey. Not the best jockey, but a small man nonetheless. There aren't a lot of jobs for small people, apart from porn and horse racing, and I haven't got a face for porn. I was fired and banned from coming within a hundred feet of a horse, so even if I did want to do porn, I wouldn't be allowed to do the stuff where the real money is. All because I injected my horse with drugs. Not performance enhancers, mind you, just heroin. It didn't help him win, but it sure helped with the pain of defeat, which is why I feel I was wrongly disgraced. I'm a hero.

Murray, Prison.

Themes: Horses, Getting the Sack, Heroin As Means of Numbing Sporting Failure.

212)

After the amount of work and stress I had to go through for my A-Levels I couldn't face going straight to uni. I needed a break, so like all those people who take gap years, I took a gap year. I didn't have a lot of money and my parents said if I wanted to go to university I had to pay for it myself, so I decided to travel for the first six months and work the six months after that to pay for my tuition and rent.

I knew I wanted to spend most of my travelling time in America, but it was going to be expensive to get about. "It's a big country" someone once told me. Most of my friends who went travelling booked themselves on bus tours or got 10-stop plane tickets, but I was poorer than them. Much poorer. The only thing I could think of was a hurricane. So I used all of my savings to get a plane to Texas and spent the next six months living inside a tornado, wreaking havage on 23 states and soaking up the American culture. I even managed to pick up a bit of an accent amongst all the wreckage. "Hey, I'm flying here!" I'd shout. It was a clever play on the popular American catchphrase.

Alex, London.

Themes: Cheaps Modes of Transport, Gap Years, Wind.

213)

Some years ago I was driven to committing rape. I don't know which was the bigger crime; me raping that poor woman or the world turning its back on me, leaving me no option but a life of raping women. I'd never had much luck with the ladies.

So, anyway, I'll tell you how it all began. We were dancing in a club, like animals, but when I leant in for a kiss she recoiled in horror. I followed her outside, pushed her up against a wall and did my thing. A few seconds after it had all started there was an incredible voice inside my head, a voice unlike any other. It was like warm liquid splashing against the side of my brain.
"Darren," it said "this is God." Wow, I thought. God! My head felt like it was going to explode, like I was going to disappear in a explosion of a thousand tiny pieces, but the only thing that vanished was my erection. Nothing puts you off sex like a message from God, I'll tell you that for nothing. Armed with nothing but a floppy cock I had no choice but to flee.

Some months later I found myself in the exact same situation, doing a rape in a urine filled alleyway.
"Darren, this is God, you..."
It was God again. I still couldn't believe he knew my name. God! The man who made the world! The voice was as incredible as ever. So deep, so high, so loving. Sadly His voice drove away all the blood for my penis, and I was once again forced to flee the scene of my crime feeling slightly unfulfilled, but only physically.

Over the next few years I raped over 250,000 women. Sometimes I'd be on a bus and there wouldn't be a single woman I hadn't forced sex upon. It was awkward. Every act had been accompanied by that message from God, "Darren, this is God", but I was always so surprised and overjoyed to hear it I went soft in a heartbeat. I couldn't get enough of the voice. I was addicted. It must have been an important message, otherwise he wouldn't have kept trying.
"Don't give up, God!" I'd cry as I'd run home afterwards. "We'll get there!".

I was bound to get caught sooner or later. If you rape enough women, you'll eventually rape an police woman and they hate it. I was sentenced to one hundred billion years in prison. The joke was very much on them, because nobody in my family had ever lived past 75.

Prison was pretty much how I expected it to be, but with less socks filled with snooker balls. Part of me felt I shouldn't be in there. God had spoken to me. I was special, I didn't belong with the scumbags. I was annoyed that I'd never got to hear the full message, it did seem like a bit of a waste.

Anyway, I kept myself to myself, but one day I found myself getting raped in the shower.
"Wait, a goddamn minute" I said "You can't rape a rapist!" So I kicked the guy's legs away from him, making him slip on the wet soapy floor. Feeling a bit violated, I decided to get my revenge, so I raped him. Raping a man is a lot different to raping a woman, but I had gone so long without it. It was like going back to the house you grew up in and finding a new family living there, but you still had some stuff in the attic. Once I was in my full swing I heard the voice again. Oh, that heavenly voice.
"Darren, this is God." he said "You really shouldn't rape people."

Darren, Prison.

Themes: Rape, Messages From God, Awkard Bus Situations.

214)

He lived an incredible life. So much drama. Pure Hollywood. His first wank was off the edge of a cliff watching an African sunrise. You couldn't write that script, except you could. I met him in the jungle. He was fighting the chief of a local tribe to death, and I coulnd't help but like him straight away. He really knew how to do the gap year thing properly. He graduated first of his class. He was first class guy. His only flaw was that he was a massive racist. He'd even complain about weather fronts that had drifted in from the middle east as if it was all their fault. Nothing annoyed him more than people adding an S when talking about a single Tesco store. Nothing scared him more than people being able to smell his bodily odours. He wouldn't even shit in his own house if he knew someone might be coming over that day. He always carried a travel size deodorant in his left pocket to keep his arm pits dry and fresh, which is sadly what killed him. Diving in front of a bullet to save a Peruvian orphan boy, only to have it hit his pocket. There was only one way he was ever going to go, and that was in a scene of explosions and flames. Nothing would have made him happier than knowing that onlookers didn't have to suffer the scent of the burning flesh of his corpse, because it was masked by the exploded can of Lynx. His actions that day saved the village. He was a hero.

Jimmy, Bradford.

Themes: Funeral Speeches, Masturbation, Stopping Bullets Using Your Body.

215)

I'm a thinker, that's what I do. In the late 80s when they came to me about the Berlin Wall and asked:

"What should we do?"

I said:

"Tear it down". People are always coming to me for ideas, some of my ideas are too advanced for the mind of the modern man. When asked to solve the ever increasing population crisis I told them that we needed to completely rethink the way we exist.

Step One -

On the day of a couple's marriage, their minds will be merged into one brain inside one body. The redundant body will be cast into the sun.
Step Two -

They will give birth to as many children as they wish, but on the sixth birthday of each child, their mind will be merged with the mind inside the body of the eldest child. Thus all of their children will exist in one human sized container. The excess bodies will be cast into the sun.

The world was not ready for my two step solution.

Dr. Homaskis, Tibet.

Themes: The Berlin Wall, Overpopulation, Mind Merging.

216)

It had been years since I'd seen her, years since I'd forgotten her voice, years since I thought about her every minute of the day. I was over her, everyone knew that. When we bumped into each other at the checkout my heart barely skipped a beat. If only I could have told her how much I wasn't falling apart at the sight of her, how much I didn't feel sick at suddenly remembering what her voice sounded like and wondering how I'd ever forgotten it. I needed something to say, something to show how mature I was now, how I was over her, how I'd become all the things she wanted me to be, something as funny as it was profound, but somehow my lips, my tongue and my vocal chords had gone renegade, split away from the rest of me, a rival faction ready to bring down my no longer broken heart and brain. I found myself firing the words "Do you still love me?", without so much as a hello. I prayed that she'd see the mess I was in and refuse to answer the question on the grounds that it had no right being there, but she didn't even have to think about it.
"No. No, I don't" she said.

I hadn't felt so bad since the time she tore out my heart, took it into a tiny room with her new boyfriend and spat all over it. Then had sex right on top of it, and better sex than I'd ever given her, that's for sure, before handing it back to me covered in mud.

Ryan, Blackpool.

Themes: Bumping Into Your Ex, Body Parts Acting Independently, Forgetting Someone's Voice.

217)

I've tried so many times to release successful book, but it wasn't until yesterday that I realised that all I needed to do was write a book that wasn't shit and filled with my own unique thoughts on race and gender.

My first book was truly awful, but I had read in a magazine that putting Hitler's face on the cover would increase sales by 25%. So I put four pictures of him on there, expecting to sell every copy, but I had completely misjudged the maths.

My second book was as bad as the first, but I hoped that a book signing would raise awareness. I needed a gimmick, so I signed all of the books in my own blood. Lots of people turned up, but very few bought the book. I made the mistake of signing them before people had paid for them. They'd just come up to the desk to see me turning pale and weak, get the book signed, put it down and walk out. At the end of the day I had over a thousand bloodied books which would never get sold and only three pints of blood left. I very nearly died.

Colin, London.

Themes: Unsuccessful Authors, Blood, The Advertising Power of a Nazi's Face.

218)

Sometimes I worry I'm living a coindicental existence and I'm not here at all. Maybe everytime I've gone to open a door a gust of wind has blown it open. Maybe everytime I've reached out my hand to collect my change off the bus driver he was just droppring the change in midair anyway. Maybe.

Bruce, Altrincham.

Themes: Wind, Existential Crisis, Stealing Ideas From the Sixth Sense.

219)

Curse my luck, I've missed my chance. I'm only 24, but I'm already locked into a life of loneliness. All the good girls already have already been snapped up. What the hell was I doing playing GTA III all these years? I should have been out dancing and fighting like a real man. The only window of opportunity I have left is 40 years away when women start becoming widows. I guess I can wait that long. I suppose I could just wait ten years for first big wave of divorces, but there's always the chance that they'll get back together. No, I'll just wait 40 years for the convenience of not having to worry about the ex coming back.

Nathan, Derby.

Themes: Missing Your Chance, Vulnerable Widows, Problems With Dating A Divorcee.

220)

There was a boy in my school who always wanted to be the best at everything. His name was Max, he even had the best name. He was very spoilt. He was an only child his parents were both solicitors, but his grandfather had been some kind of Duke who owned half of Yorkshire or something.

If I came into school with a Power Ranger action figure, he'd come in the next day with a Dinozord. One Christmas I got all the Dinozords, so I could make the Megazord, and I couldn't wait for school to start again so I could show everyone, but when I got there Max was standing by the school pond brandishing his Megazord, Dragonzord and Titanus! He could make the Ultrazord. My life as I knew it was over.

At lunch a few months later I was talking to my friend Kevin about how my mum was making me a trifle for tea.

"I love trifles" Kevin said. I could tell from his voice that he was jealous, but he I knew that he was happy for me. He was my best friend. At that exact moment, Max was walking behind us, and he had heard every word.

"That's nothing" he said. "I'm going to eat a star". I explained that his words did not make sense. You could not eat a star. Even at my young age of eleven I had a good grasp of science and a genuine interest in astronomy.

"You just watch me" he said.

Over the next few months all anyone talked about was Max's plan to eat a star. My trifle was long forgotten. Two weeks before we broke up for the summer holiday, Max stopped coming to school. Our teacher informed us that he had gone off to train with NASA. On August 15th he became the youngest person ever to fly into space. It was all over the news.

September came after what had seemed like years. It was a summer dominated by one thing; Max's mission. As Kevin and I strolled into our first registration of the year we spotted Max already at his desk looking pale and nervous. He looked really ill. His hair had thinned and his skin had white burns all over it. It wasn't long before the returned traveller had drawn a crowd.

"So did you do it? Did you do it?" people cried.

"Yes" he said, but his voice was no longer that of an 11 year old boy. His voice had fear, it had pain, it had doubt, and above all it had wisdom brought about by a boy becoming a man in too short a period of time. The arrogance and cockiness of an over-loved child had disappeared. Whatever had happened to him had made him grow up faster than any child should. He said nothing more on the matter and never brought up his adventure again, and no-one dared ask.

I know I said you couldn't eat a star, it's impossible, but after seeing the change brought about in Max that cold September morning, I can't help but think that maybe he did.

Josh, Portsmouth.

Themes: Power Rangers, Space Travel, Exotic Foods.

221)

She asked me if I wanted a drink, and so, I assumed she must have spotted the hole in my shoe and noticed my nearly empty glass and thought me too poor to buy another one. Never in all my days did I think she wanted to talk to me. You can't just walk up to people and talk to them, can you? Is that what people do? Just walk around talking to each other? Why would anyone want to talk to me anyway?

So we got to talking, just as awkardly as I predicted it would be. I could see she was trying her best though. After I finished my drink she asked if I wanted another. She wasn't wrong about me being poor, so I accepted. So what if it meant another fifteen minutes of akward chatting? At these prices, £3.20 a pint, I was practically earning £12.80 an hour just for being uncomfortable. Finally I was getting paid for something I was good at.

As the bartender was pouring my drink the girl asked me if she could see my heart. I was a little bit tipsy by now, but I was still quite embarassed and hesistant. Maybe it was my upbringing, but I just didn't feel right about getting my heart out in the middle of a pub, especially for someone I'd only just met. I didn't want her thinking I was scared though, even if I was, so I showed her. I'm sure it's what any normal man would have done, and as far as she knew, I was just that.

Half a drink later she asked if she could touch it.

"I don't know" I said. Things were moving too fast. "Maybe later"

"No, it's ok, if you don't want to do it I won't ask again"

"Ok, ok, but do it quick."

We got back to talking about the new Harry Potter book which was due to come out later in the week. She was convinced that Snape would turn out to be a bad guy, but I knew in my heart she was wrong. In the middle of a sentence she stopped talking, leant forward, put her hand on my knee and looked me right in the eyes.

"Can I hold it?"

Oh, Jesus. There was no turning back now. So there I was, sitting in this crowded pub watching a woman I barely knew holding my heart in her bare hands. A minute past and she hadn't offered to give it back yet. She was cradling it like a baby. I could have sworn I saw her whispering something to it when I checked the time on my phone. I didn't want to be the guy who asked a girl to give his heart back in the pub just because it was making him nervous. I had to pretend I was comfortable with this. I did it all the time.

But there was only so much I could take. It had been half an hour and I needed it back. It was mine afterall. Maybe she was the weird one and my panic was justified. I told her I had needed toilet, hoping she'd see that as the sign to hand it over, but she was barely listening to me now. She was completely fixated on my heart. I got up and went to the toilet, and must have spent five minutes looking at the mirror practicing what I was going to say when I got back.

"Look" I said "I've got to go. I've left the oven on" and pointed at my heart. At least I think it was my heart. It was a lot smaller than when I left, and I was sure it hadn't been covered in broken glass. Those hairs definitely weren't there. What were they anyway? Dog hairs? They were too thick to be human. I knew that much.

Greg, Cardiff.

Themes: Hearts, Meeting Strange Women in Pubs, Lending Things to People and Getting them Back in Bad Condition.

222)

There comes a time in the lives of a few good men when they will become the worst at sex in the entire world. Many historical figures have worn the worst sex crown and lost it soon after. It is not a crown that stays on a man's head for very long. Human beings inheritantly like things that are bad. They will gladly sit through hours of a show called "100 worst songs EVER!", when they could easily be off listening to songs which aren't the worst. Women flock from across the globe to seduce the man known for being the worst at sex. They want to know what the worst sex feels like. It is this flaw in human nature that allows the crown wearer to have lots and lots of sex in a short period of time, giving him enough practice to become just one of the worst sexers in the world, but not the worst. The title ordinarily gets passed on every few weeks, but once in the history of time came a man whose natural inability to do sex well, be it through his lack of rhythm or poor imagination, meant that no matter how many times he made love to those who sought the worst intercourse, he could never improve and held onto the crown for over fourteen years. How do I know this? I was that man.

Charlie, Sydney.

Themes: Sex, Being the Worst, Crowns.

223)

Back in the grey days of 2005 people were saying that King Kong was the greatest CGI they'd ever seen, but the best CGI I'd ever seen was my mother. She died just before my GCSEs, and my dad was a very old fashioned man. He believed that a child should never find out that their mother has died just before important weddings, birthdays or exams. And so, he spent a lot of money, an awful lot, on maintaining the illusion that mother was alive and well, just so it wouldn't affect my academic performance. Sometimes I think he did the right thing, because I got 8 As and 2 Bs, but when I went to hug my mother on results day my world kind of collapsed in on itself and starting cutting myself a bit.

Adam, Sheffield.

Themes: CGI, Losing a Parent, GCSEs.

224)

They said that a book about erections, especially my erections, would never sell. Not in a million years.

"Why would anyone want to read 300 pages of tables and charts cataloguing every erection you'd ever had?"

"Trust me" I said "Someone will want to see it. I promise you. Even if I have to publish it myself." So that's what I had to do. I took out a loan, a big one, and got that baby on the shelves. And you know what? It did sell. Even if the only person who bought one was my brother-in-law, they cant never say it didn't sell. I'm an author!

Lance, Michigan.

Themes: Erections, Publishing, Your Sister's Husand/Your Wife's Brother.

225)

After World War IV the American government will be faced with a terrible problem. They will will be left with over 45,000,000 unemployed soldiers. Men and women trained in nothing more than the art of war will wander the streets, causing the kind of chaos which could only be dealt with by an army of over 45,000,000 men and women trained in the art of war. Many will be unable to readjust to a world of peace, and will find themselves slaves to the new drug of Heroin-X, the only opioid to harness the power of lasers. There will be only one solution, because gone will be the days of buildings motorways, for flying cars will have put an end to roads. Sport! Yes, a sport will be the only way to save the day. The president will produce a bill creating a new kind of sport, the only sport where non-spectatorship is punishable by death, a sport which employs an entire former army.

It is hard for me to predict exactly what the new game will involve, but we can safely assume that it will take place high above the clouds and each side will have over 1000 players. Former soldiers will find themselves dragged from wartime obscurity to the front page of ESPN cereal box newspapers. Referees will have to be brought in from the distant future, as robots with futuristic technology, but programmed with the morals of the past. For the Great Referee Riots of the late 21st century will see referees, umpires and judges forced underground. The cost of shipping for these robots will be immense, because the price is calculated by distance, and will have to take into account the millions of miles which the Earth has moved in its orbit between the present and the future. The solution to cost of these robot referes will be in the form of a tax credit, where families are able to claim back 5% of their tax if they spend 7% of their income on sporting merchandise. That is all I know. Please, ask me no more.

Donovan, L.A.

Themes: Time Travel, The Changing Values of Referees, Government Endorsed Sports and Other Entertainment.

226)

The ceiling was raining blood. Not metaphorical blood, and not literal blood, but something in between. I couldn't see it, but I could feel something on the back of my neck. It was the blood of every wrong decision I'd ever made. Every wrong turn which had led me to being in this place right now, today. I was drawn to it like a moth to the crack pipe. It's a place of nightmares, and not one of those wipe away nightmares where your parents adopt every other person on the planet, and tell you you're not welcome in their home anymore. A real nightmare. This is a place held together with magic and science. This place is Subway.

It's unlike any other Subway in the whole of England, maybe the entire franchise. It's a fast food outlet which only employs the most beautiful women in the land. How they do it I do not know. It's like one of those terrifying, tiny, and eastern European villages where nobody ever visits and the gene pool is so contained that they only produce beautiful people, but somehow a bad eye sight gene gets in through the tiniest crack and within a hundred years their vision is so poor that they don't even realise that each of them is the sweetest of eye candy. I'm certain that they don't breed the women on the premises, and I doubt that they only hire attractive people, because it's a dangerous tactic. It's a mystery. I will not crack it.

Now let me tell you about each of these women, so that you might learn of their ways. Hopefully my words will spare you becoming trapped in a life like mine. The woman at the start of the sandwich process is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. Her eyes are like diamonds coated in even nicer diamonds. You don't know anything about diamonds. You're not even sure what a karat is, but you heart tells you that she has lots of them, or not many at all, depending on whether lots of karats is good or bad. You must never look directly into them, only through a cardboard tube. When she asks you what kind of bread you want you can tell that she genuinely wants to know. Yes, it's her job, but even if you were both in a different situation, in a popular nightspot on a first date she'd still ask the exact same question. From your choice of loaf she plunges her mind into your soul, and she likes what she finds. You love this woman more than you love any bread. You'll always pick Hearty Italian, because you think it's the most romantic sounding one. You are completely right.

Before your heart has a moment to regain it's normal beat, you're dragged by your guts along the rollercoaster. Suddenly you're gazing upon an altogether different beauty. She's the most incredible event you've ever had the privilege to witness. Her voice is so soft and thin that you're scared it's going to sink in through the pores of your skin and attach itself to your white blood cells, destroying them instantly, leaving you wide open to a variety of attacks. But you don't care. You're convinced that you love this woman more than you've loved anyone. The Bread Girl's eyes might as well have been cubic zirconia for all you can remember. Her first question seems innocent enough. She asks what salad you want. Immediately and naturally you think she cares for you, cares for you so much that she wants you to eat healthy and live longer, with her. Forever. You want to say "Everything, stick it all on there, baby." But doubt has crept in. Does she want you to eat well to live longer or does she want you to lose weight? You tell yourself you're just being paranoid, but you can't help shake the feeling that you're flawed in her eyes. Her last customer was in better shape than you. You miss the first woman. She'd never expressed concerns about your diet. She lived for carbs. You know that you love the salad woman more than anything, but you're beginning to wish the first had never left.

Then she drops the bombshell; "Any sauces?". That dirty bitch. She's an animal. Right here in front of everyone she's talking to you about sauces. Has she no shame? There's a wild side to her that you never expected, never thought possible. You want her squeezing chilli sauce all over your foot long until the bottle runs out. You feel the blood rushing from your head. You'll finally feel like the man you thought your father was when you were a boy. You want to rip off your shirt and start peeling the skin off your arms right there in the queue. But when it comes time to answer her something's gone wrong. You've become the shyest man in Shanghai. You don't ask for a single sauce. You're still a boy.

Disorientated from what's just happened, still sporting an erection, you're moved along at what feels like the speed of light. You're looking down at the floor wishing you hadn't worn socks under your sandles, or at least had a matching pair to tighten up your appearance. When you look up there's a woman standing there. At least you think she's a woman. She could very well be an angel. Her name tag says "No!", but her eyes are saying yes. Her hair rains down like liquid oak. She smiles at you. Her teeth are so white, so straight, that you find yourself vomitting down the front of your shirt. She loves it. She's the perfect woman. You've already started carving her name into your back with your car keys. Once you're finished you'll toss them into a lake. You don't need a car anymore, because you're exactly where you need to be. You don't know what you've done to deserve her. Why is she with you? Is it a dream? It must be, but why does it feel so real? Then she speaks; "That'll be £3.19 please, sir". So cold, so formal, so distant. All she's interested in is money. That's all she's ever cared about. Your friends knew all along. You feel used, dirty, pathetic. Your appetite has vanished as you fumble through your wallet, tears falling down your face. As you go to hand her a five pound note you vomit all over your hand. She takes the money anyway, just as you knew she would. You'd give anything to turn the clock back five minutes. Things were so much more simple then.

Anthony, London.

Themes: Subway, Vomit, Love.

227)

There was an old man on my bus today. One of those ones with a walking stick covered in badges. Where do they get those badges from, anyway? My instinct is telling me a locksmith or a cobbler. So, this old man, right, he spent the entire fifteen minute journey laughing his head off. I have no idea what he was laughing at.

Darren, Wrexham.

Themes: Buses, Old Men, Laughter (Manic).

228)

If God hadn't wanted us to strangle all the swans he wouldn't have made their necks so soft and long.

Thomas, Scotland.

Themes: Swans, God's Intentions, Strangling.

229)

"Watcha want for your birthday?"
"Send me to heaven, baby."
"I'm not going to sleep with you again. That was a mistake."
"No, kill me. Please don't put me through another year of this."

Jane, Derby.

Themes: Birthday Presents, Euthanasia, Mistakes.

230)

When he said he wanted to eat his way to China I assumed he meant trying all the cuisine from here to asia. I should have known he meant literally eating through the Earth. He's been an idiot since the day we met. I told him it was impossible.

"What about all the molten lava? It's too hot. " I said.

"Baby, you aint tried my mother's curries."

I don't know which was weirder; the fact that he thought he could eat through the Earth's core, or that he called me "baby".

Alan, Preston.

Themes: Earth's Core, Idiots, Eating.

231)

I wanted to travel back to when you still loved me. If only for one day, just to wake up next to you one last time. All I could afford was a time catapult, and the closest it could get me was two years before you were born. I thought about telling my young self not to make the same mistakes, but I didn't want him seeing how pathetic he'd become. I wanted to watch you grow into the woman I'd come to love, and so, I trained to become a teacher in the school you would one day join. As the years died away my love for you became more and more like that of a father. Love replaced lust and I knew I had to act soon before I thought of you like a daughter. I couldn't bear the thought of some idiot teenager in a tracksuit taking your virginity. That is why I approached you when you were just 15, that is why we made love that day in room 14a. It was a mistake. I have to leave. I've broken the law. I should have known that my actions that day would cause you to never trust a man again, making sure you'd never be completely open when we meet and fall in love many years time, and that is why we'll never last. I know you won't believe any of this, but please don't press charges. I'm not built for prison.

Derek, England.

Themes: Love, Time Travel, The Worst Excuse For Having Sex With A Minor.

232)

There once lived a man who was too dangerous. He'd never committed a crime, but he was coated in evil. It got in people's throats. His danger level was so high that a judge ordered that he be imprisoned for life. Even though the man had never broken the law, his lawyer didn't dare protest.

The man went without a struggle. He kept himself to himself, mostly because he had to. He was kept in solitary confinement, but he made the most of his time by writing poetry. Even though his poems were mainly about hills, lakes and wild birds, nobody could deny that they were the most evil poems ever written. After three weeks of being behind bars he was set free. He was too dangerous for prison.

He soon fell back into his old life of never doing wrong, but people crossed the road when they saw him coming, they didn't return his calls, and they wouldn't deliver his mail. His life was lonely, but he didn't grumble.

One day, another man, a good man, a churchgoing man, a man named Frank, reached out to The Man Who Was Too Dangerous. Frank invited him over for dinner with his wife and five children. Over dinner they talked about his time in prison, how wrong it had been for a judge to convinct him without a crime. Frank and his wife couldn't believe how gentle a soul this poor dangerous man was. He never once spoke badly about the miscarriage of justice, he said that people make mistakes, even him. He was more interested in talking about Ancient Rome, for it was his biggest passion. It was his dream to write the definitive book about the Roman conquest of the Near East. Frank and his family listened intently. They'd been to Rome on vacation the previous year.

"Hold on" he said "I'll go upstairs and grab the photos"

By the time Frank returned to the kitchen, his wife and five children were dead. The skin of their faces had been peeled off, and only his wife still had her thumbs. The Man Who Was Too Dangerous was nowhere to be seen, but there was a note on the refridgerator written in blood. It said "I've made a huge mistake".

George, Arizona.

Themes: Danger, Prison, The Possible Side Effects of Leaving Your Family Alone With the Most Dangerous Man in the World.

233)

"It's a play on words" I said. "Like that song by the Smiths."
"Yes, we understand that, but where do you go from there?"
My pitch for Girlfriend In A Comma was going worse than expected.
"I don't know, but you can see that comma and coma are really similar, can't you?"
"Yes" he said "But I'm not sure if we can fund a film that doesn't have a plot."
"You can't deny that it's a play on words though, can you?"
"No" he said. And you know what? He really couldn't.

Josh, Hampshire.

Themes: Morrisey, Funding For a Film, Adding Letters To Words To Make New Words With Different Meanings.

234)

Eskimos might have seven hundred different words for snow, but they've never been able to come up with a word that captures the feeling you get when you get when you're called up for jury duty for a murder you committed. Their words cannot convey the equal measure of relief at knowing you aren't a suspect, and panic at the thought of being pointed at by a witness during the proceedings. They just don't have a word for it. Luckily those of us blessed with the English tongue need only describe the feeling as "Snookercruised".

Mary, Islington.

Themes: Eskimos, Jury Duty, Language.

235)

There is no greater shame than being banned from every library in the world. It was my first time in the British Library and I think the grandness of it might have overwhelmed me slightly. I stole a pen from a blind man and set about making changes to every children's book I could lay my hands on.

Wherever I found a story that ended with "And they all lived happily ever after", I crossed it out and scribbled "And they all died sad alone" in a bid to prepare the poor children for the real world.

John, Leicester.

Themes: Libraries, Life Time Bans, Unrealistic Endings.

236)

There was a knock at my door, but this was no joke. It was the police.

"I'm afraid we've got some bad news about your husband" said the tallest one.

"He's dead." said the smallest one.

"But I'm not married." I told them.

"And you never will be, I'm afraid." said the one who was neither the tallest nor the smallest. They explained that my husband had been erased from history. A well meaning time traveller had travelled back to kill Adolf Hitler, but had got the wrong man. The man who was to be my father-in-law was mistaken for the fuhrer and strangled in his crib, meaning my husband was never born, and so, I would never meet and marry him.

"We just thought you might want to know" said the tallest one. "Sorry if we woke you."

Elizabeth, Jersey.

Themes: Time Travel, Knock Knock, Sending Three Police Officers To Do The Job of One.

237)

People don't like to visit one horse towns. They need to know that if the horse breaks down there'll be another one to replace it immediately. Ideally people like to visit places that have done away with horses altogether. Let me tell you this; my town has no horses, and not because we outgrew them, we just didn't get any in the first place. Nobody came to visit, for we had nothing to give. Surrounded by desert, plagued by wasps, we didn't have a lot to offer the tourist trade.

Until one day a baby started dancing. Nobody knew where the baby came from, and we could only guess at his reason for dancing. Never in all our days had we seen a baby with such rhythm. He had the moves of a six year old. Through the sun and the rain, the night and the day, that baby danced. News got out pretty fast, and our no horse town quickly became a tourist hotspot. People were coming from all over the world to see the dancing baby.

"Dance!" they'd cry, but their words were wasted letters, for the baby didn't need telling.

Our economy exploded, and our population soared. The baby had literally put us on the map, because it wasn't until he'd been dancing for six months that our town was deemed good enough to be allowed onto maps. Scientists from across the land came to study him, but he defied science. Nobody dared go close enough to touch him, for fear of disrupting his flow. He never aged. He never stopped dancing. Was he Jesus? There were some who believed he was mechanical, but his moves were too fluid to be robotic. Except, of course, for his robot dance, which was flawless. Some believed he wasn't a baby at all, but a small man. This theory was widely dismissed, because only babies wear diapers.

Finally, one day, many years after this boy first busted his moves, someone dared to get in close enough to examine him in detail. He wasn't a baby at all. It was one of those hairless cats.

John, Texas.

Themes: Dancing, Tourist Attractions, Small Town Becomes Thriving Metropolis For The Most Unlikely Reasons.

238)

I've never been the easiest person to buy gifts for. On Christmas Day, when my then girlfriend presented me with a certificate explaining that I now owned a owned a planet in the Draco Dwarf Galaxy, I quite rightly said:
"You know this is bullshit, don't you?"

After a fiteen minute rant about her falling for the oldest scam in the book, Christmas was effectively ruined. Our relationship never recovered.
Some years later there was a knock at my door. It was an alien man with an alien gun.

"Get in the ship" he said. I was flown 280,000 light years across the universe in three blinks of an eye.

As I landed on a planet covered in flames I realised that I probably hadn't been taken to the alien sex paradise of my dreams. Mile high buildings crumbled before my eyes as clouds of red poured down metalic rain. Men in armour fired lasers at one other with cries of:
"I'm going to kill you so hard!"

Placed in handcuffs I was led into a cell a thousand miles below the planet's surface. There, in a room with no windows, it was explained to me that the world had fallen into its worst civil war the Angrarian Uprising of 1991. As the owner of the planet "Sarah luvs Chris 4eva" I was accountable to face charges for crimes against humanity. Over seven hundred billion people had been killed, and their crazy and backwards laws stated that I was responsible for failing to keep the peace.

I wondered if Sarah had purposely bought me a planet with a long history of global war. She must have.

I was to be imprisoned for a billion years without trial, which made me laugh, because no one in my family had lived past seventy.

To cut a long story short, the planet Sarah luvs Chris 4eva orbits a white sun, and I was able to develop superpowers of the like that the people of this war stricken world had never seen. I quickly karate chopped the planet in half and threw both pieces into a black hole. I'd been meaning to get rid of all the stuff that reminded me of Sarah for quite some time. It felt good. I decided that as soon as I got home I'd burn that t-shirt she always slept in.

With the weight of a world no longer on my shoulders I returned home at superspeed.
Under the Earth's yellow sun I could feel my powers beginning to diminish, so I grabbed a crowbar and ran to Sarah's house.

"Hey, Sarah!" I shouted outside her window. She stuck her head outside and looked annoyed at me breaking the agreement of the restraining order.

"I bet you wish you never broke up with me now" I said, as bent the metal bar in half with my bare hands.

Chris, London.

Themes: War, Developing Superpowers, Companies That Claim To Sell You Stars, Planets and Lunar Real Estate.

239)

After the breakup we split our friends straight down the middle. As for the dvds, she got the drama, I got the comedy. If a film had elements of both we rolled a dice. The only thing left was the Sun. I couldn't bear the thought of having to still share the sunlight with her. I did the only thing I could; I journeyed to the centre of the Earth to live out my days in solitude. She could have the Sun.

Sadly I was not the first single man to come up with this idea. At the planet's core I found a city filled with single men. It was a Utopia for the lonely man. We didn't have to worry about putting the toilet seat down, because there were no toilet seats. A grand statement, flawed only by us having to shit standing up.

In many ways it was paradise, in other ways it was Hell. It was certainly hot enough to be either. It seems that the kind of men who flee below the surface of the world after a breakup are the kind who only talk about being sad and alone. Everyone thinks that their breakup was the worst, and it can get quite annoying. What they don't understand is my breakup really was the worst. She left me for my identical clone.

Tony, The Earth's Core.

Themes: Earth's Core, Breakups, Custody of the Sun.

240)

I was sitting on a bus, on my way to see that dancing baby all the papers were talking about. We pulled up at a stop and a man got on. His trousers were too big, or his legs were too small. The bus must have been early, because the driver didn't pull away for three more minutes, and in those moments it all went wrong. The sun had already set. I'd be in the airport until it rose again. As I glanced out of the window I saw a girl just standing there. She wasn't getting on the bus. I wondered to myself where she was going. I knew that the 81a came through this way, but she seemed like too nice a girl for that neck of the woods. I must have been staring for too long, because our eyes met, and she smiled. Instinctively I readjusted my focus to see my reflection in the window. She wasn't smiling because I had something on my face. She was smiling because we'd had a moment, like something from an advert. As the doors of the bus closed, signalling it was time to go, she raised her hand to her mouth and then down again. She was blowing me a kiss! I did the only thing I could have done. I caught the kiss and put it in my shirt pocket. When she raised her hand to her mouth for a second time I saw something I hadn't noticed before; the cigarette. She was only smoking. It was the worst thing ever.

Paul, Denver.

Themes: Bus Stops, Misjudging Situations, Embarassing Moments.

241)

My mother used to say "There's nothing worst than an itch you can't scratch.". Thank the Lord she never lived to see how wrong she was. It turns out there's nothing worse than an itch you can scratch.

Just after the Korean War, I developed in itch in my left leg, possibly caused by a special kind of bullet that no government will ever admit to its existence. By Christ it itched. I'd scratch it for hours, but still it itched, maybe even more than before I'd start scratching it. After one whole year I had one whole leg less than I started with. I'd scratched it away. I was forced to live with a metal stick for a leg.

Then Vietnam happened and I developed an itch in my right leg that couldn't be tamed. I'll say now what I said then; a man with only one leg shouldn't have gone to war. The same thing happened again, and pretty soon I had nothing but two metal sticks for legs, but at least the itch was gone.

Sadly, one day I heard a song called Purple Rain on the radio. The minute I heard that guitar solo kick in I felt the itch again. In my leg! I didn't even have any legs! The doctors said it was very common. "Phantom limbs" they said. "It's all in your head, mate" they'd say.

To cut a long story short, the itch never went away, and I eventually wore away my arms by scratching my metal legs. Then I got metal arms which wore away the metal legs. All that's left of me is a head on a mattress blinking this story to you in Morse Code. It's no life for any man. I tell you this not to gain sympathy or pity. I ask only so that you may scratch under my chin for me.

Derek, Houston.

Themes: Itches, War, Losing Limbs

242)

Everyone remembers the time that dog ran onto the football pitch in school and they had to cancel PE, but nobody seems willing to talk about the time that monkey broke into the science lab and twelve people were killed.

Tom, Norwich.

Themes: Monkeys, Unauthorised Personnel on School Property, School Massacres.

243)

Have you ever been inside a cave? I have. Once. It was a cave within the heart of a rainforest, and so, I expect you've already worked out that this was no ordinary cave. Inside it was a clock, and not a normal clock. It was a rainforest clock; the most suspicious time keeping device known to man. As I crept closer to the ticking I heard a voice echo off the walls of the cave.

"Beware" it said "What you see before you is the Death Clock Perhaps it is best if you do not look upon it. The time it tells can drive a man insane."

I hadn't travelled all the way from Weston Super Mare to turn back now, and so, I picked up the clock. What I saw sent a shiver down my spine. It was digital. The ticking was coming from a digital clock. I checked the time on my watch. Something wasn't right. The time on the Death Clock wasn't right at all. It wasn't even going the right way. Then it hit me; it was a countdown. A countdown to death. I had just 3,456 hours left to live. It felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach with a fist.

I spent most of the next 3,455 hours and 59 minutes alone, often in alleyways, crying. As the last ten seconds of the countdown were washed away by time I let out an almighty scream. I wasn't going without a shout. Then ..... nothing. I was still alive.

To celebrate surviving my death I made my way to the off license, but on my way to booze I discovered something which made the taste of my victory a little less sweeter. The streets were lined with corpses. Everyone was dead. It hadn't been a countdown to my death at all. If I'd known I was going to be spending the rest of my life alive and alone, I would've made a bit more of an effort during the 145 days after I saw the Death Clock. I would have at least played doubles tennis a couple of times while I still had the chance, and I don't even like tennis!

Colin, Alone.

Themes: Last Man on Earth, Rainforests, Clocks.

244)

I'm not ashamed to say that I'm the most naturally gifted darts player of all time. I was born with a dart in my hand. The doctors couldn't explain it, but when I stopped crying and threw the dart into the eye of a passing swallow, it just seemed to make sense. Sadly I have never won a game of darts in my life. Being such a gifted "sportsman" from a young age has made me arrogant, a showboat, a performing monkey. When I find myself in a competitive match, be it on tv or in my local pub, something inside my heart makes me aim for the bullseye everytime. Sure enough, I never miss. It looks impressive and the ladies love it, but I'm losing ten points everytime I don't go for the treble twenty. Plus it's mathematically impossible to score 501 by only throwies fifties.

Clive, Manchester.

Themes: Darts, Showboating, Wasted Talent.

245)

There was a time when I was young and full of optimism. Full of life and thoughts I wrote a novel; the ulitmate novel. Everything about it was the best. It had a storyline with so much depth that some of the pages weighed as much as three pages from an early John Grisham thriller. It's only flaw was it had no flaws, which, if you ask me, is no flaw at all.

Confident that it would become a number one bestseller across the world, and eventually the universe, I sent a manuscript to my top five prefered publishers. None of them were interested. I was forced to seek the help of the rest of my top ten favourite publishers, but I had no luck. Pretty soon I was desperate. I was sending it out to anyone, even bus drivers. The same answer came back from all of them;

"No, it's a great book, maybe the best, but it's not what we're looking for at the moment. Try again in six months, because at the moment we just can't risk putting out a story that doesn't revolve around the adventures of a cryptologist hero. It's what the market demands."

My optimism for life and the world was fading fast. I thought about rewriting the story to include a secret ancient conspiracy and maybe adding a couple of background archaeologist characters, but it just wouldn't fit in with the main plot.

I found myself in a meeting with a small Sheffield based publisher on a rainy January morning knowing what his answer would be. He was an old man with kind eyes. He could see what was going on in my head.

"Look" he said "it's a great book, we both know that, but there's not a single riddle in it, maybe if there was a car chase we could do something with it, but as it stands it would be marketing suicide to put this book out today. Although, I suppose you have travelled a long way and I don't want you going home empty handed. How about I make you a deal? £10,000 for all the commas."

"What?" I asked.

"If you take out all the commas from your book and give them to us for another project we'll give you £10,000."

And that is the story of how I once had the best novel in the world, but sold it all
for thirty pieces of silver. All I have left is a book with sentences so long that no human would dare to look upon them.

Michael, London.

Themes: Authors, Commas, Demand for Da Vinci Code Style Stories.

246)

The story of the first digital watch is an incredible tale. It was the most sought after object in all of existence. Scientists, mad and sane alike, craved to wear it on their skinny wrists. The story is not unlike that of the Lord of the Rings. In fact, many of the names and events are exactly the same, and so, I dare not say much more for fear of breaching copyright law. The only real difference is that magic was replaced by very complicated programming code. Many thousands of scientists, geeks and astronauts were killed, and those who remained were left to suffer the waiting of many weeks before the digital watch entered into mass production. They envied the dead.

Darryl, USA.

Themes: Digital Watches, Lord of the Rings, Scientists.

247)

As he pulled the trigger I had no time to think about what to do next. I just raised my fist. I raised it so fast that for a split second I wondered if I'd become faster than a speeding bullet. If that was true, was I now more powerful than a locomotive? Could I brush off anything smaller than a large artillery shell? I didn't have long to ponder these questions, because the bullet was fast approaching. It was now or never. Was I really going to punch the bullet? As the tip met the skin of my knuckles I was convinced that I'd done it, but that feeling only lasted for a billionth of a second. My hand exploded into a million pieces of flesh and bone. I should have expected as much, but what I could never have expected was that the bullet would continue to travel as fast as a speeding bullet up my arm, along my shoulder, up through my throat, out of my mouth and back into the barrel of the gun. Nobody could have expected that.

Vincent, New York.

Themes: Bullets, Superpowers, The Unexpected.

248)

Babysitting is a tough gig. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar or a little girl. It takes a real man to watch over a child. The only reason most parents seek the services of a young teenage girl to babysit their kids is they hope that any intruding kidnapper will pick the babysitter over their own children.

I've just got back from my first paid babysitting job. It was a disaster. Not one of my three years of babysitting college could have prepared me for the horrors of the real deal. When the parents came home (slightly drunk, I might add!) they were all:

"That's not our baby."

But I tried to explain that it was a better one.

"It's not even a boy" they said.

"I know, but these ones last longer" I told them. "And feel how tight her grip is! Just put your finger in there. Careful though, you might not get it back!"

"Where's our baby?" they yelled. "Where's our baby?"

They didn't even stop to think about the lack of attention they were giving their new one. I could tell that they weren't good parents.

"Look" I said "I'll show you your baby, but you're really not going to like it."

"Oh, Jesus, is he dead? Please, God." cried the mother.

"Of course he's not dead. What do you take me for?" I asked.

Five minutes later they were all:

"Oh, my God. What's happened to his face?"

"It's complicated" I said.

"Why does his arm look like metal?"

"Well, it kind of is. It's a lot stronger than that old one I had to throw away." I could tell that they didn't appreciate my craftmanship, but I'm a babysitter, not a welder.

"What's that sticking out of his nappy? Oh, my god! Is that a tail? Why has he got a tail? Where's the dog!?!?"

"Look" I said "The dog's dead."

Nelson, Farnborough.

Themes: Babysitting, Cyborgs, Coming Home to a Surprise.

249)

You probably wouldn't recognise me, but I'm the greatest child actor who ever lived. I was robbed of my childhood, but you'd never see me in any film. There was never an audition I didn't nail, there was never a part I didn't get, but there was never a film that didn't have my scenes cut when they reached the editing room in a bid to reduce the running time. I blame my agent. Not once in my entire childhood did he find me a role that was essential to the story. I'm not bitter. I have my parents who stole my millions of dollars, the dead look in my eyes and my dependency on prescription medication, nearly everything a former child actor needs, just not a face that people can say "Oh, he hasn't aged well" about, because they never got to see it in the first place.

Mikey, San Francisco.

Themes: Child Actors, Agents, Not Being Bitter.

250)

I’m sure we’ve all had a good laugh at America and their amnesia. I bet some of you are watching a hit America drama right now and crying to the heavens “Amnesia! He can’t have amnesia; his wife had amnesia last week! Full families of people don’t just have amnesia all the time.” I thought it was just a cheap writing tool, but how wrong I was. So if you’re crying to the heavens right now, you’d better stop, because you’re making a fool of yourself.

Two months ago, I went on a routine holiday (or vacation!) to America, and within two hours of stepping off the plane I had a pretty bad case of Amnesia. In a bid to get to the bottom of it, I got to the bottom of it. I won’t tell you the details of my investigation, because it was too thuggish for the scientists, and too scientific for the thugs. My discovery was this: Shampoo. For all these years it’s been the American hair soap makers who have been washing away more than just dandruff and hair dirt, they’ve been washing away memories. A secret ingredient, most likely brought in from the nearest rainforest, has been causing all this amnesia. The reason is thus: After washing their hair, the American will become disorientated and filled with short term memory loss. Unable to remember whether or not they have washed their hair, they wash it again. Why? The Shampoo runs out twice as quick, and the shampoo makers become the richest villains in the entire world as sales double or treble. Sadly nearly 40% of Americans are genetically more open to amnesia and can end up going through an entire bottle in one visit to the shower, leading to more serious long term memory loss, the kind which you are probably seeing on your television at this very minute.

Can’t Remember, London.

Themes: Amnesia, Rainforests, Shampoo.

251)

It was the ultimate act of misdirection, the greatest trick I’d ever seen. For years she distracted me by becoming my wife and raising a family. All the while she was secretly taking my DVDs out of their cases and selling them on eBay. It hurt to find out that she never loved me and our life was a sham, but it nearly killed me when I found out that I only had Lethal Weapon II left.

Jason, Leeds.

Themes: Magic, DVDs, eBay.

252)

Some years ago I bought a book, and, like most books I buy, I read it all. Even if I hate a book from page one I’ll force myself to finish it, such is my hatred for myself. After finishing this particular book, I was convinced that I hadn’t enjoyed it, so I donated it to my local charity shop.

On my way home from this minor adventure I began to wonder if I’d been too quick to judge the book. Maybe I had been wrong. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Without regard for the oncoming traffic I spun the car around at 60 mph and headed straight back to the shop.

“Hi” I said “I was just in here about five minutes ago.”
“Oh yes, I remember” said the old lady behind the counter “You gave us the Da Vinci code.”
“Yes, that’s right. I’d like it back.”
“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible” she told me.
“Nothing is impossible” I cried in my mightiest middle class voice, but she didn’t flinch an inch. “It belonged to me five minutes ago, and I gave it to you for free!”

“Yes, a very kind thing to do, sir.”

To cut an incredible story short, just as it was becoming one of the all time great tales, I ended up having to buy my book back for £2.99. I gave the woman £3 and I must admit that I may have lost my head a little bit when she assumed I wouldn’t want my penny change. A lifetime ban, she called it, but I knew she only worked on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“We’ll see” I whispered as I left with the book in my hand.

As soon as I got home I started to read Dan Brown’s book again. By the time the ten o’clock news came on I’d finished it. Was it good? I wasn’t sure, which must have meant it wasn’t. My first impression was the right one. I’d take it back to the charity shop tomorrow, which was a Wednesday; a day on which my lifetime ban wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.

After donating the book for the second time I was driving home again, the rain was beating down and some Northern clown was saying things on the radio. Suddenly a terrible thought consumed my brain. Had I already made my mind up that I wasn’t going to like the book the second time, simply because I didn’t like it the first time around? I slammed on my brakes and began to reverse the car all the way back to the charity shop, which sadly caused the death of two rabbits and the destruction of one Slazenger tennis ball.

Within a minute of being back in the shop, a scene had erupted, a scene not unlike the day previous. This time, however, I wasn’t dealing with a little old lady.

Behind the counter was a man, one of those do-gooders, built like a steam engine, trained in every Eastern fighting practice, but with a gentle heart of gold. He struck me as the kind of man who would sit on the floor, up against a radiator, even if there was an empty chair in the room. Not if the radiator was on, of course, but you get the idea of the force I was dealing with.
I found myself face down on the floor with my arm being held behind my back. Made to apologise, I was handed a lifetime ban, luckily I was allowed to buy back my book before I left.

After reading the book for the third time I was beginning to think that maybe it was good after all. Or was I just trying to justify buying it three times? I decided that I definitely liked the book and would think about it no more. I posted it back to the charity shop anonymously and didn’t think about it for two whole days. Sadly, when those two days were up, I could think about nothing else. Knowing I couldn’t set foot in my local charity shop ever again I had no option but to buy it new from WH Smith. And that is how the terrible cycle began. For the next six months I found myself buying the book nearly ever other day and posting it through the charity shop letterbox the next. Sometimes On my worst days I’d even buy it two or three times. I know what you’re thinking; why didn’t I just hold onto the book and not give it away after each read? The answer is simple, after each completion I was convinced that my mind was made up over whether or not I thought the Da Vinci Code was good or bad, and I’d never need to read it again, but I was obsessed. Plus I’m a sucker for giving things to charity shops, because it makes me feel like a good person without having to lose any of my precious money.

The book had taken over my life; I was signing my name Robert Langdon whenever I used my credit card, and I’d often spend hours trying to solve riddles that didn’t exist in bus time tables or the number of leaves on a tree. Even worse, I’d put the Da Vinci Code at the top of the Best Sellers list all by myself, and kept it there for far too long. I’m sorry.

Chester Dockstock, London.

Themes: Da Vinci Code, Charity Shops, Books.

253)

When they asked me if I was interested in making Back to the Future 4 on April 1st I thought it was a practical joke. “No, we’re really serious” Robert Zemeckis said. “We’re in a rush though, so we have to start filming right now. Come on, you can read the script in the car!” From what little I read, the script seemed solid enough. The premise was my character using dinosaurs from the past to fight off an alien invasion in the future.

Everyone was already there when I got to the set. Christopher Lloyd, who I hadn’t seen for nearly ten years, came up to me and said “You’re a good man, Mikey” and patted me on the back.

“Ok, get in the car, Fox!” shouted the director. “Action!”

So there I was sitting in the De lorean, not knowing what I was supposed to be doing.

“Just fiddle with the buttons” Zemeckis yelled.

And then it happened; the ultimate April fools prank. They’d put me in a real time machine.

I write this letter, in the prehistoric past, to you, whoever you are, in the hope that you find it and tell my wife and kids where I am. If they are able to come and get me, that would be great, but I understand that it won’t be as easy as that and there might be complications. Tell them that although it’s very lonely for me here, I’m making the most of it.

Best wishes,

Michael J. Fox.

Michael J. Fox, A Cave.

Themes: April Fools Day, Time Travel, Sequels.

254)

My parents had a wicked sense of humour. They gave me a name which would guarantee
me a life of people asking “Are you him?” and me having to say “No, he’s fictional and I’m a woman.”

Sue Perman, Los Angeles.

Themes: Names, Superman, Bad Parenting.

255)

When I used to tell people that I had a bullet for a brother they thought I was threatening to shoot a black man. I’ve had to change my wording to “My brother is a bullet”. When my mother was in labour with my little brother, some crack-fiends rushed into the hospital looking for some morphine. They had a gun. They burst into the delivery room where my mother lay. They shot her. As fate would have it, the bullet entered her womb and hit my unborn brother in the head. The momentum of the bullet was so strong that it burst his brain out of his head and out of my mother’s sweet back. The tiny brain pierced the wall, entered the next room and smashed into a vial of green liquid; a new secret formula called Chemical X. Somehow the brain tissue merged with the lead of the bullet, creating a piece of metal capable of communicating telepathically with humans and certain breeds of dog. It’s been hard on all of my family, to say the least.

Neville, California.

Themes: Childbirth, Bullets, Chemical X.

256)

I was the greatest forger the world had ever seen. There wasn’t a banknote that I couldn’t duplicate. Name a currency and I’ve forged it, even that stupid Greek one. In the late 90s my £20 notes were so perfect that they were costing me over £30 to make. This was no good. An idea came to me. I hadn’t gone into forgery to lose money; I was in it to make money (I hope you get the clever double meaning there, it took me all night.) I came up with a plan to sell my expensive £20 notes to rich people for £40 each. They were the ultimate luxury good. “Reassuringly expensive” I told them. “What better way to show your superior wealth than to pay twice as much for something whilst appearing to only pay the normal price?”

“But how will anybody know?” they’d all ask.

“Just tell them” I said. “Go to a restaurant; order a £40 meal and when the bill comes tell the waiter that you’re paying with rich man £20 notes, so you’re actually spending £80, when you could easily pay with normal money and leave a £40 tip and be no worse off, but you won’t, because you’re a better man.”

I’d like to say that I got rich off this scheme, but sadly I won the lottery instead.

Duncan, Newcastle.

Themes: Lottery, Rich People, Fake Money (Not Including Monopoly Money).

257)

I got talking to a man at the bus stop this evening. Usually, I avoid such terrible things by listening to my iPod, but it broke the other day. If you’re wondering how
it broke I’ll tell you right now, if you don’t want to know, skip forward a bit.

Well, I put it in my back pocket and sat on a hard bench. Why? My jeans were too tight and if I’d put it in my front pocket it would have looked like I had a bad case of iPod shaped penis.

Luckily my limited social skills are one level above weather talkers, and so, I asked him what he did for a living.

“I steal tips” he said.

“In what way?” I asked.

“Well, you know when you go to a restaurant and leave a tip on the table? I pretty much steal it.”

“How do you do that then?” I asked.

“I basically sit in a restaurant all day and grab the money off nearby tables as soon as the coast is clear.”

“Surely you can’t make that much from it? You’d have to be buying food all day.”

“Not really” he said “I just buy a bowl of chips now and then when I start attracting attention. Ideally I go to somewhere that does free refills on drinks.
They’re better anyway, because usually waitresses in refill places do more work, so they’re more likely to get tips.”

“But the money can’t be that good?”

“The money is incredible” he told me “I’m insanely rich.”

“Hmmm. Then why are you catching the bus?” I asked.

“It’s the flashiest way to travel” he said.

“No it isn’t!” I yelled at him.

“It is when you do it the way I do. When I get on this bus people will know I have so much more money than them and they’ll be incredibly jealous.”

A moment later we both got on the 82A, which goes to Norwich hospital. I flashed my bus pass and moved to the back seats.

“I’d like you to take me to Newcastle” the tip stealer said to the driver.

“I’m going to the hospital, mate. You’ll need to get 41 to the city centre then catch the shuttle if you want to go to Newcastle. Every hour they run.”

“I must insist that you take me straight to Newcastle. Here’s £10,000.”

“Um, ok” the driver said “I’m gonna get in trouble for this, but I can always say you had a gun. What about the other passengers?”

“Leave them to me. Right! Everyone not going to Newcastle please exit the vehicle and collect your £1000 compensation on the way.”

“But we need to go to the hospital” a man cried “We’re sick”

But his cries went unnoticed; everyone was making their way towards the man handing out the £50 notes.

Trevor, Norwich.

Themes: Bus Stops, Tipping, Sitting On Your iPod.

258)
People say that knowledge is the greatest weapon, but I’ve found this stick with two bits pointing out of the end which is perfect for poking people in the eyes.

Luke, London.

Themes: Weapons, Eye Assaults, The Limits of Knowledge.

259)

All superheroes have their own believable origin story. Batman lost his parents, Superman lost his planet, Spider-Man lost his ability to never get bitten by a radioactive spider. I’m no different. I was born with a very special heart, a heart which defied science in all its forms. When the doctor held his stethoscope to my throbbing chest he heard a familiar beat, and not the beat of every heart he’d listened to up until that day. The beat he heard was Purple Rain, by the artist currently known as Prince. Unable to find a medical explanation, the doctor lazily put it down to a Christmas miracle.

When news of my tuneful heart got out, my story made the front page of the local gazette. Pretty soon my mother was taking me to county fairs and holding a microphone to my heart as I slept in my crib on the stage. I was the talk of Somerset, and no good has ever come of anyone being the talk of Somerset.
It wasn’t long before a man in a suit, a man from Warner Brothers was knocking on the door of the house I grew up in. In his hand, the hand which wasn’t knocking the door of the house I grew up in was a carrier bag filled with modems and legal documents.

“Before I begin” he said “Would you like to buy a modem?”

After my mother declined, the man, Eric was his name, made it very clear that my heart was in breach of copyright law. My mother put up a fight, but she wasn’t a big shot city lawyer, and she wasn’t dealing with EMI, the people’s record company.

“I don’t want you to think we’re monsters over at Warner” he said “We don’t expect you to give us the heart. We’re really very reasonable. All we ask is your son wears this device on his chest for the rest of his life. It sends a very small electrical current into his heart to regulate the beat.”

What else was my mother to do? My father was at work in the local Nuclear Power Station and wouldn’t be home for hours. She had no choice, but to agree.

Eric cut me open right there and then. As fate would have it, when he was stitching me up, one of his modems fell into my chest. Over the course of many years, my body’s natural reaction to this foreign object was to embrace it. My flesh and organs fashioned wires and whatsits, which connected my heart to the modem. Through no fault of my own, my heart began to download music illegally straight into my pulse. I’d walk through a Wi-Fi zone and end up coming out with the entire Beatles catalogue programmed into the beating of my heart.

I tried to keep it to myself, but when I was seventeen I fulfilled a childhood dream and landed a small part in Holby City. Ratings for the show had reached an all time low, and in a desperate attempt to attract viewers the producers decided to screen a live episode. As the man playing the doctor placed his stethoscope upon my chest he broke characters and let out an almighty cry.

“His heart’s playing Yellow Submarine. Someone get a doctor!”

Within an hour the clip had made it onto Youtube and I was an internet sensation. The press hounded my home and I was forced to hide out at my parent’s house for a few weeks.

On a sunny spring morning a hand pounded against the door of the house I grew up in. The hand belonged to Paul McCartney. Behind him were a team of lawyers, doctors and Roman Catholic priests. As soon as my father opened the door the doctors pounced, my father was pushed to the floor as the men made their way into the kitchen.

“Where’s the boy?” McCartney asked in a gentle whisper.

“He’s not here” my mother replied. “He hasn’t been to visit for months.”

“Lies!” he cried as he struck my mother to ground with a rolling pin. “Search upstairs. He’s here somewhere.”

I was in the bathroom, unaware of the scene unfolding below me. I heard what seemed liked a herd of rhinos climbing the stairs. There came a knock on the door.

“I’m in here” I shouted, in fear of my mother coming in and seeing my penis for the first time in four years.

“He’s in here” I heard a man yell. A moment later the door was wide open and not for the first time in my life I cursed my parents for never putting a lock on the bathroom door. Sadly this time I didn’t have a magazine to cover my dignity.
I was dragged naked down the stairs and thrown onto the sofa.

“He’s an abomination. We must kill him now” said one of the eldest priests.

“Nobody is killing anyone today” Paul told the priest.

“Hey, Paul” I said “I’m a big fan. I’ve got all your songs”

“I’m quite aware of that” he said. “That’s why we’re here. Ringo, take the heart.”

I hadn’t noticed him, but Ringo Starr had been standing at the back of the room dressed in a nurse’s uniform. He came towards me with a needle.

“It’s ok” Paul said “He’s not just a drummer and children’s TV show narrator. Ringo
here is a trained surgeon, florist, chemist and a hair product technician”

That’s the last thing I remember and that’s the last time I had a heart.

When I awoke I thought I was in a bathtub filled with ice and my kidneys had been stolen, but they’d just put me back where they’d found me and the water had gone cold. My heart was gone, it had been replaced my something which smelled a lot like fish. It was a fish.

I know what you’re thinking; how could I be alive with a fish for a heart. It must have been magic. Well, there’s no such thing as magic. The fish was called a Pulse Fish, and you’d never read about one in any book. I could feel it pumping the blood around my body just as well as my heart had ever done. They come from a planet much like our own, but billions of light years away. How this one came to be in the possession of the remaining members of the Beatles I never found out, and I don’t think I ever will. The only information I had was left written on my bathroom mirror in lipstick. It said

“The fish in your chest is a Pulse Fish. It comes from a planet very much like our own, but billions of light years away.

Love Ringo and Paul.

P.S. They only live for one year.”

The weight of this knowledge that I had less than a year to live had a devastating effect on my mind. Not knowing how old the Pulse Fish had been when Ringo Starr inserted it into my chest, I feared I could die at moment. I’d never believed that any man who lived each day as their last would fill every hour with seducing women, snowboarding off mountain tops and watching sunsets, instead he would surely spend his final hours frozen in a mixture of shock, panic and woe.

Wanting the nightmare to be over I made my way to my local nuclear power station. I would kill myself by exposing myself to lethal levels of radiation. There was no other way. Quite easily I made my way to the heart of the station. It's always handy when your father's the head of security and the password for every door is your birthday. Overlooking a pool of unnaturally green and glowing goo I pulled off my best t-shirt and prepared to jump in headfirst.

“Hey! What are you doing” I heard a man cry “You haven’t got your hardhat on” he said.

“It’s ok” I told him “I’m just going to kill myself my rolling around in this nuclear waste for a bit”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Set one foot in there and you’ll come out with superpowers all over your body.”

But I wouldn’t listen. I threw myself in and swam around like an Olympic swimmer trying to get his money’s worth five minutes before the leisure centre was closing. I emerged a minute later and I’d lost all my hair. Confident that I’d achieved my goal I set off back to the house I grew up in, so I could die in peace in the bath.

I filled the bath with the most expensive salts and bubbles I’d ever bought my mother for Christmas. She had so many bottles of bath products piled up from over the years, most of them unopened. When I asked her why she never used them she said “They’re too nice to use. I’m saving them for a special occasion.” If there was ever a time when a bath was a special occasion it’s when you’re having your last bath whilst waiting to die from radiation poisoning. As I lay in the water my eyes glanced upon the shampoos. Even though I’d lost all my hair in the power plant I thought it would be a nice treat to shampoo my bald head. But which one was fitting for a final head wash? Herbal Essences? Head and Shoulders? Wash and Go seemed slightly appropriate, but there was one bottle which stood out more than any other; Shampoo X. It didn’t have any fancily designed bottle; it just looked like a milk bottle with the name written on it in lipstick. I was reminded of the scene from Indiana Jones: The Last Crusade with the Holy Grail. Shampoo X would be the final shampoo for me. As I lathered it into my smooth dying skull I knew that I wouldn’t get a chance to rinse and repeat. I could hear death rattle. I submerged myself completely under the water and waited for death to take me. I blacked out moments later.

To my surprise I regained consciousness one hour later and my hair had re-grown longer and shinier than ever, and I was alive! I got out of the bath and dried myself with a damp towel. As I looked at myself in the mirror I couldn’t help but notice that my muscles had trebled in size. It would be many years before I learned how this miracle had happened. Luckily you won’t have to wait that long, because I can tell you right now. Shampoo X contained nutrients not from this planet; they came from a planet much like our own, but billions of light years away, a planet with rivers filled with a fish called the Pulse Fish. Luckily nuclear radiation effects life differently on that planet, and when combined with one of the secret ingredients in Shampoo X, the Pulse Fish became immortal.

And that, my friends, is how came to be known as the superhero that the papers are calling Pulse. There have been a lot of rumours surrounding my powers, and so, I think it’s time I set the record straight.

Yes, I am able to communicate telepathically with my fish heart, but I’m not under his control. No, I cannot breathe underwater indefinitely; I need to come up for air every six hours. In addition to my superior strength, reflexes and acceleration over short distances, I am able to give off what I call my “Pulse Ray” which causes my enemies to go into cardiac arrest. As recent photos have shown, my hair is always the same length and hasn’t grown since I used Shampoo X on it, which has led some to believe that cutting it would have a Samson-like effect on my powers, but luckily my hair is indestructible, as far as I know. Hopefully it will never be put to the test when it matters most!

Pulse, Gotham City.

Themes: Superpowers, The Effects Of Nuclear Radiation, Failed Suicide Attempts.

260)

I’ll never forget the day my collection of VHS tapes became obsolete. I was just thirteen years old and I thought the world was over. In truth I only had about twenty videos and it wasn’t the end of the world, but it seemed like a lot back then.

DVDs were the most evil creation of all time. They killed the videotape, my videotapes. Time is a great healer, and by the time I was 18 I had finally embraced digital versatile discs. For the first time in my life I could see why having films on discs was so much better than video tapes. They’re rounder! With a steady income I acquired a collection of DVDs which put my pathetic videos to shame. “This is it!” I told my friends “They won’t top this. DVDs for life, my friends. DVDs for life.” How naive I was.

I had over five hundred DVDs and all of a sudden they brought out HD and Blu-Ray.

“This’ll be the end of me” I told Cathy. I had a choice to make. I wouldn’t be left with a pile of obsolete DVDs on my hands. I had to upgrade to the next generation, but which format would survive the world? There was no way that Blu-Ray was going to make it with a name like that, and so, I replaced every single one of my DVDs with HD. Sadly something happened which nobody could have predicted; Blu-Ray won.

Ten years later we’d been through over forty different formats, even going back to VHS for a week in May 2016 for David Beckham’s birthday.

Finally a company decided that things had gone too far, of course that company was LG who had decades of guilt to rid themselves of for year upon year of putting out poorly constructed electronics. It was a video player filled with miniature black holes, wormholes and flux capacitors. The machine was designed to anticipate developments in the market and automatically become the next generation machine years before the technology had even been conceived. They said it was the last machine you’d ever need, but there were catches; it cost £250,000 and wasn’t backwards compatible, and so it could only play future films. Of course I bought one, and much to Cathy’s disliking I had to sell the house to pay for it.

“But it’s like it was built just to solve every problem in my life” I told her.

The day after I bought it I sat myself on the sofa and flicked over to Pepsi-BBC News. I began to think about how my life could never go wrong again. In front of me was a machine which would never become obsolete, because as soon as it was about made obsolete by a better machine it would become that machine. A smile crossed my face. I was content. Then a headline flashed up on the screen; “Everyone in the movie business quits to pursue other things”. And another film was never made again.

Michael, Chester.

Themes: Obsolete Formats, DVDs, Black Holes.

261)

I first realised that human beings were heading in the wrong direction when I saw that they were sleeping next to clocks which had the primary function of causing alarm. Hating yourself was the new doing nice things to make yourself feel good, and so, I saw an opportunity to make myself a very rich man; Misery Workshops, expensive classes teaching you how to be as miserable as humanly possible. Sadly nearly every customer I had mistook what I meant by misery workshop, and thought it was a support group to get rid of the sadly. Most of my teachings had a devastating effect on these already devastated people, and 80% of them committed suicide soon after their first lecture. Even worse, in a bid to raise interest I offered the first lesson for free, so I never became rich. Everyone lost out.

P. Wilson, Chicago.

Themes: Misery, Suicide, Failed Businesses.

262)

She was like a Magic Eye painting, everyone thought she was this sweet and innocent little girl, but I just couldn’t see it. Nobody suspected her of anything, because doctors said it was impossible to calculate her IQ, whether or not this was because it was too high or too low they couldn’t say, but most people assumed the latter. All I saw was a woman who knew what she was doing. Everything she did was part of a carefully thought out plan. When she went shopping she bought food according to weight, not price, because she knew exactly how many kg her arms could hold. If that doesn’t prove she wasn’t completely oblivious to everything then I’m probably wasting my breath. All I’m saying is if you’re going to pin this murder on me you should at least find out where she was that night.

Lee, Burnley.

Themes: Alibis, IQ, Optical Illusions.

263)

Jesus. Don’t talk to me about the Credit Crunch. Ok, just for a minute then. Yeah, I remember the Credit Crunch. It did my fucking head in. It was just the latest craze like yo-yos and Ben Stiller. Every single advert on the radio would name drop the Crunch. They were all “Yeah, our Credit Crunch friendly prices, blah fucking blah”. It only took six months for it to become the most fashionable thing in Hollywood. Actresses were turning up on the red carpet wearing plastic bags and saying “Yeah, it’s the credit crunch”, even though they had millions of dollars in the bank and loads of normal expensive clothes in their wardrobes.” The worst was when Paris Hilton came to the premiere of Rush Hour 5 with a tramp. He was cracked off his face and all she could say was “Credit Crunch” as she shrugged her shoulders with the blankest look in her eyes I’d ever seen. Actually, that wasn’t the worst, the worst was when Kellogs brought out their Credit Nut Crunch cereal. It was literally just nuts and sawdust.

Bart, San Diego.

Themes: Credit Crunch, Fads (Up to and including Paris Hilton), Cereal.

264)

I’m sure if you were to look upon my finely chiselled face you’d recognise me in an instant, but you’d struggle to know why. I’m Burt Manchester and I’ve been the number one Queue Actor in Hollywood for over twenty years. You’ve seen me in such films as Goodfellas, Independence Day, Batman Begins and The Shawshank Redemption. Whenever a director needs to fill his queue with people, my name is at the top of his list. “Get me Burt Manchester” has become something of a catchphrase in Tinsel Town.

Perhaps the greatest moment in my career was back in 1995 when Michael Mann took me to one side and told me that I could no longer be in his movie. It was the bank robbery scene in Heat. I think his exact words were:

“It just isn’t going to work. Is that your real cheque book? You’re blowing my mind with your attention to detail, but you’re too distracting. I can’t have people sitting in a cinema and failing to notice two of the biggest actors in the world just because they can’t take their eyes off the man queuing in the background trying to make a deposit. I need the audience to be focussed on De Niro and Kilmer, not wondering how long that handsome yet plain man has been standing in line. You understand, don’t you? Here’s ten million dollars, don't tell the producers.”

Since then I’ve had to tone my queuing down a notch. I’ve been mostly doing art house flicks and independent stuff, but I still occasionally queue in a Transformers or Adam Sandler film. Hey, a man’s got to eat!

Burt Manchester, Hollywood.

Themes: Queues, Conversations With Michael Mann, Acting (Specifically Extra Work)

265)

Yes, kids, phone boxes were real. I know it’s hard for you to imagine such a thing now that you’ve all got phones right inside your brain, but in my day people had to use phone boxes if they needed to call someone and they weren’t in their house.

Then, one day, mobile phones got invented by some guy. I forget his name. They were a lot like the brain phones of today, except people kept them in their pockets. You won’t remember pockets, but they were part of this thing called trousers which we used to wear over our legs. You’ll need to wiki legs (This isn’t a bio-history lesson!).

Anyway, all of a sudden we had thousands of these redundant phone boxes everywhere. It got the public in a panic. “What will become of BT?” people used to say. BT didn’t really do anything about it at first. Their staff just walked around looking pretty depressed at the thought of these wasted phone boxes.

Then, in 2012, one of the sons of the British Telecom fat cats came up with an idea; why not advertise phone boxes as something cool and retro like vinyl records?

At the same time, someone had been watching a re-run of Dragons Den, the episode with the guy who covers stuff with 24 karat gold. He thought it would be great publicity stunt to cover every phone box with 24 karat gold. He was the son of one of the fattest big wigged cats, and so, by the time the sun had set, every phone box in Britain was the colour of, and made of, gold.

People didn’t go for it though. Since the decline in phone box usage for phone calls, there’d been a steady rise in the number of people using phone boxes for masturbation. There was a stigma about it. Nobody wanted to be caught phoning someone in a seedy wank box, even if it was made of solid gold.

BT was on the verge of collapse. They’d spent every last penny they had on the Great Gold Phone Box Disaster of the week before. In what was perhaps their darkest hour, a man, a poor man whose parents had never owned a significant share of British Telecom rose up like a blinding light and pondered: “If people are wanking in our boxes, why don’t we charge them for it?”

His words were met with frantic whispers and discussion. “It’ll never work!” “It’s too un-British!” “Could it work?”After hours of heated debate, and many coffees, a strategy was devised. BT needed to convince the British public that public wanking in Britain was as normal as bangers and mash. There was only one way to do it, a lone man, a man the public trusted, a man as British as wanking in a phone box; Bob Hoskins. BT had no money to pay him for his services, but his heart was so attached to the company that he said he’d do it for free. They didn’t even have to ask him. He had been hiding on a window ledge outside the board meeting for the entire duration.

The press caught wind of something stirring over at BT HQ, and pretty soon the only thing anyone was talking about was the new BT advert which was to be aired at 9pm on Sunday night. It was such a huge thing. They even cancelled the Olympics for it, and not just took the Olympics off TV that night; they called the whole event off for good.

When 9pm came and Bob Hoskins finally spoke the words “It’s good to wank”, nothing was ever going to be the same again. The word phone box had left the tongues of the masses, only to be replaced by wank box. People were spending every spare minute they had masturbating in those tiny gold plated sex cathedrals. You couldn’t get through a day at work without hearing one of your colleagues shout “I’m just going on my break down the wank box.”

BT was back on top. Profits had trebled overnight, but BT weren’t the only ones to gain from the wanking hysteria. Masturbation had overtaken sex with married couples for the first time in forty years, and over the next decade the population decreased for the first time in history. Obviously this meant that waiting times for almost anything you can imagine fell dramatically, all except the queue at your nearest wank box. The world was a better place, or at least Britain was. The handshake had completely fallen out of use, because you had to assume that everyone had just had a wank, and the boxes didnt have any handwashing facilities, and so, whenever you wanted to greet someone you had to hug them. It was like the 60s all over again.

Nothing last forever, and it inevitably all went wrong on a wet winter night. It was New Years Eve, the saddest night of the year, and a man had got into a heated arguement with his pregnant wife over whether or not the baby was to be a boy or girl. She threw him out of the house, and spat on him from their bedroom window. The spit was soon lost like tears in the rain, because it began to rain. Rain is the loneliest type of weather a man can get. It was truly a sad sight to behold. Th mane wandered the streets not knowing what to do with himself. His wallet was still in the house, he had no money, no place to go. Soaked and freezing he stumbled into a wank box and curled up on the floor, shivering and lonely. There he spent the night, asleep and wet as a new year was brought into life.

When BT found out that a man had gone into one of their wank boxes and fallen asleep without paying, they closed down every single box in the country. They couldn't have people getting something for free. It just isn't fair on the people who pay.

How do I know all this? I was the man who fell asleep in that wank box that fateful night. I regret nothing.

Greg, London.

Themes: Phone Boxes, Bob Hoskins, Public Masturbation.

266)

A poorly fed cat crosses the road, narrowly missing a double decker bus as she jumps onto the pavement and into a bush.

A man tries to trim the top of a hedge, but he can’t reach, his ladder will topple within the next few minutes.

A woman looks at her receipt from the supermarket and sees they’ve charged her twice for the same item. She knows that she’s gone too far to turn back.

The sky is too blue and bright for it to be October and the warm air clings too tightly to my skin for me to be comfortable in my winter coat.

I wait at the bus stop. I am joined by another man. He is bald, but not old. He seems healthy, and so, I assume he lost his hair at a very young age. I imagine it happened when he was just 16, still in school and suffering from an unspeakable emotional dilemma. In his hand is a box made of wood. I don’t know woods, but I think it might be maple.

“Have you seen this?” he says to me, as lifts his box closer to my face.

“Yes, it’s a nice box. What is it, maple or something?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know the names of woods.” he tells me. I think about telling him that I’m the same, but it seems too mundane and unnecessary to say to another human being.

“The box itself isn’t what’s important” he says “It’s what’s inside. Take a look at this.” He opens the box and shows me a metallic orb, about the size of a hockey ball, resting on a bed of purple velvet. The sun shines down on it and casts a blinding glare. I wonder to myself, if I was taller and could look down at this man’s head, would it reflect the light just as well? Why are bald heads shiny when the rest of the body isn’t?

“This, my friend,” he says “is my greatest invention yet. It has taken me most of my adult life to create. This device can answer any question your mind can imagine.”

“Like a magic eight ball?” I ask.

“No, it is nothing like a magic eight ball. This device is the most incredible technological development in the past one hundred years.”

“More incredible than the Wii?”

“Of course it is. In order to make this machine work I had to master the secrets of time travel. It can answer any question about the past, present or future! Go on, ask a question!”

“No, thank you.” I tell him.

“But you must!” he cries, startling a bird resting on the roof of the bus stop. The opportunity to gain any knowledge your heart desires is a priceless gift.”

“But there’s nothing I want to know. Thank all the same, but I’m happy with the knowledge I already have, and I can always Google the rest.”

“Google!” he yells, causing a man who is reaching too far off his ladder to fall and land on top of an underfed cat. “Please, you must ask a question. If not for you, then for me. It’s taken so long to build.”

“Ok then. What’s my name?”

“Your name! This ball can tell you how many stars there are in the sky and you ask it to guess your name. Come on!”

“But there’s really nothing I want to know. Ok, what time will the bus arrive?”

“It says that on the timetable! 14.22! Please, this machine can tell you who killed Tutunkhamun, it can tell you the exact date the universe will end, it can tell you if God exists, it can tell you what tonight’s lottery numbers will be. Please, just take the lottery numbers.” A bus appears on the horizon. Clouds have started to appear in the sky.

“I don’t know, that seems a bit like cheating. I’d be robbing the real winner of millions of pounds. Just tell me who’ll win in the football tonight. Arsenal or Fulham?”

The bus gets closer. The man with the shiny metal ball placed on a purple velvet inside a box, which could very well be maple wood, catches sight of the bus and knows he doesn’t have much time.

“Fine” he says, as he rubs his hand over the orb like a bald man waxing his head. “Arsenal or Fulham?” A moment passes and he looks up at me. “Arsenal. You could have discovered the meaning of life. Instead you have discovered the outcome of a game where 22 wealthy men try to kick a ball into a net. I hope this secret knowledge is of great importance to you and steers your life in all the right directions. You have failed yourself and the human race, but I am glad that I was able to prove that my invention works and give you this information.”

The bus arrives and the man with the orb walks away proud that he has proven he’s created a machine capable of unravelling life’s mysteries. Sadly there was no mystery here. Arsenal are in top form and Fulham haven’t won away from home all season.

Alexander, Slough.

Themes: Bus Stops, Baldness, Inventions of Importance.

267)

The problem with my parents was they tried so hard to be good parents that they didn’t notice that they were doing a terrible job. If my father wanted a mug saying “Number One Dad” he wanted it from an official parenting governing body who recognised his contribution to the world of raising kids. Dinner time was always the most depressing affair. Once a week they’d put on a sort of strange performance at the table to entertain me and my brother. Sometimes it was scenes from famous films, but most of the time it was original material. Stuff like my mother would look down at her plate and start crying, so my dad would say:

“Come on, mum (Yes, he called her mum. I didn’t know she had a real name until I was 14), it’s not so bad”

“But they’re so round.” She’d say.

“Just try one.”

“But they’re so disgusting.”

“Please, for me.”

“And they’re so green.” And this would go on for about fifteen minutes, with my mother getting quite hysterical at some points, just so my dad could finish by saying “Go on, honey, give peas a chance”. They were so focussed on these skits and trying to make me like them as friends that I didn’t learn how to tie my shoelaces until I was 13 and I’m still not quite sure how one goes about blowing their nose.

Oliver, Dunstable.

Themes: Parenting, Dinner Time, Mugs with Writing on Them.

268)

I know a lot of people say if they didn’t have bad luck they wouldn’t have any luck at all, but I don’t even have that. My life is just a series of escalating unfortunate events. And that is why I am the unluckiest man of the past four hundred years.

I could give you some examples. I could say that I once bought a lucky dip for the lottery and the machine gave me six zeros, but you wouldn’t believe me. You’d say it was impossible. I could give you something more believable, but I’d have to make up a lie and tell you that I once bought a lucky dip for the lottery and the machine gave me the numbers 19 03 06 20 01 02, which isn’t only unlucky because they came out in the wrong order, but more unluckily the numbers were the dates of every day a person I’ve loved has left me. In my despair I tore up that ticket, which of course meant that later that evening that ticket would have won £14,000,000. Sadly, the worst part is it isn’t a lie at all, and this really happened just five days ago.

The 19, 03 and 06 were probably the most unlucky numbers. In March 2006, my girlfriend and I went on a two week holiday to Rome. We were standing outside the Coliseum, very much in love, very much on holiday. The place was filled with men dressed in ancient military uniform, and it seemed only right for us to have our photograph taken with one of them, so I handed my brand new camera to a suspicious handsome looking man and asked him to take our photo. I know what you’re thinking: he stole my camera, but sadly he stole my girlfriend. His name was Vincent Flash, and he was the greatest man I’d ever met. After taking our picture we got to talking, and I couldn’t help but like him straight away. Even when he did that thing where a man you’ve never met kisses your girlfriend’s hand like a seedy leech, he did it with such charm that wished he’d done the same to me.

It turned out that he was staying in the same hotel as us, so we shared a cab back there. He was staying alone, so we invited him to join us for dinner in the hotel’s restaurant that evening. He didn’t even decline out of politeness to start with; he just came out and accepted our offer straight away.

It was at dinner that I recalled hearing the name Vincent Flash before, but I couldn’t remember where. After three bottles of wine, we were very much in awe of him. He had an incredible quality about him and his opinions were so much better than mine. When he was in the bathroom I leant over to my girlfriend and asked her if we should invite Vincent upstairs for sex. She didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night.

While she was asleep in the bed, and I was awake on the floor, all naked and cold, I used my phone to google “Vincent Flash”. There was a reason the name had seemed familiar. It belonged to the man who defeated the terrorist cell “Black Window” at the Jamaican embassy in Brazil last year, a feat which saw the loss of all forty five hostages. It was all over the news for most of that afternoon. The internet was filled with rumours about him. Some say he once punched a rabid dog so hard that a puppy came out. Others say the dog was already in labour and it was a cheap shot. Either way, it was pretty brave. According to his Wikipedia page he once interrupted a wedding, walked up to the best man and punched him in the face, then lit a cigar and said “I’m the best man”.

I won’t bore you with the details of the next few days, and not because they make me look like a gullible fool, so I’ll just tell you that I had strong reasons to believe I was in love with Vincent and he felt the same about me, and when I finally made my move, my girlfriend caught me and used it as her excuse to leave, all the while she’d been plotting with Vincent Flash. They’ve been together ever since, and have a one year old daughter who looks just like me.

David, London.

Themes: Rome, Luck, Being Tricked Into Being Gay.

269)

I know a thousand pounds isn’t a lot to pay for superpowers, but it’s still a lot of money. I cannot help but feel that these new superpower vending machines are not all they are cracked up to be. Maybe if they didn’t only have them at carnivals they would be a bit better.

I was disappointed with my first one. It took me the entire summer to save up that £1000. I must have mowed about fifty lawns and painted sixty fences, so it was understandable that when I was granted the power of catching I felt ripped off. Sure, I’d never drop an object again, no matter what its size or shape was, but it’s not the kind of thing a kid dreams about every minute of the day.

I convinced my dad to give me £1000 when the carnival came again, but it meant I wouldn’t get a Christmas or birthday present that year. It was worth the risk, I thought. Sadly the ability to know when any person is on the phone is the worst ever superpower.

Dunbar, Carmarthen.

Themes: Superpowers, Carnivals, Vending Machines.

270)

My mother warned me never to marry a statician. “They don’t love like us” she said, but I was young.

It was clear that things weren’t working from the start. After things began to get worse I was convinced I didn’t love him. He was cold, distant and square like a machine. We got into an argument and I told him I was leaving.
“But you love me” he said.
I explained using various reasons that I didn’t.
“I’m afraid that’s not the case” he said.
“I’m not one of your figures or charts” I screamed. “I’m a human being. I know what I feel.”

Then he showed me a graph which proved that I really did love him, and so, I stayed. You can’t argue with a graph.

Denise, Cambridge.

Themes: Graphs, Marriage, Advice of the Mother.

Kinder Surprise

2007-06-16T16:45:00.000Z

If I had a farthing for everytime I've done a photo-journal after saying I'd never do another one again I'd have an obsolete piece of currency in my hand right now.

Since the last journal there have been a flood of changes in my life. I've shaved my head and some red carpet has been installed in the hallway. Does it make me feel more important? Not an ounce, my dear friends. Not an ounce.

Everyday I wake up and a new piece of garden furniture has been gifted to my garden. It's a bit too post-modern for my taste, but what do I know about garden art?

Bin Dice; the bin sensation that's sweeping the nation. All the sides add up to 15, so nobody wins, but more importantly, nobody loses.

If you wanted to send an e-mail by hand, this is where you would do it?

You walk the walk, but can you talk the talk? No, no I can't.

Worst parade ever.

Nowadays I don't even see the code. All I see is a blonde getting on the 21a to St. Mellons, a brunette playing some terrible r'n'b on her phone and a redhead trying to ignore the drunk sailor sitting next to her.

I had completely forgotten about the referendum to decide whether or not to stop the BNP. I miss the days when graffiti was all cocks and balls.

If it's for the blind, why do they need that big sign? Maybe it's braille. Massive hard to reach braille.

Behold, Queen Street. Named after none other than the Queen.

I made a quick stop in Game and the photo came out blurry. It's good in a way, because it sums up computer games today. Blurry.

Poor Lara. There's just no place for her in the 21st century, but she still keeps ploughing on. Sure, she was groundbreaking back in the nineties, but nowadays everyone has gigantic breasts and a background in archaeology. I know I do.

Imagine a drug that gave you super powers. I know I'd sure take a few. Probably ones that gave me ice breath like Superman, so that when I take a drink out of the fridge in Superdrug I could blow on it to make it cold. Superdrug fridges are very strange affairs. Always on, but always room temperature.

There's a carnival atmosphere in the air and that man's bag is on fire. Those crazy carnies.

Heh, fudge box.

Worst pier ever.

Worst island ever.

I stopped off in Waterstone's and spied this book. It had a pretty cover, but was £16 more than I wanted to spend.

Poor guy. Forever to be humiliated with a seagull on his head. A joke for all eternity. What would his mother say if she could see him now? "You've brought a great shame on the family with that seagull on your head, son." I'd imagine.

Off to Spillers, the oldest record company in the world, famed not just for its age, but the magic fire exit in the floor.

What did I buy in there? Nothing short of a ticket to see Future of the Left this evening at Clwb Ifor Bach.

Yeah, I'll mind the children. I'll mind all the children.

A quick stop in Game(-)Station, the younger rebellious brother of Game. There are two games in the world which I want to buy right now and lo, there they are, right next to each other as if Sir Arthur Conan Fate was up to his old tricks again. No, no games for me today.

Some good headlines there, but that's not how you spell Cockbrain.

Neither a river nor an island. The treacherous English language at its most misleading.

How could I forget a thing like this thing that I am never supposed to forget?

How very vague.

Here I am, a man with glasses, flowers in water without the vases, head all a shaven, black like a raven, walking my street searching and craving.

Not for heroin though, but if your in the mood for some delicious heroin this house seems to have plenty for sale.

What I was craving was altogether more sinister and chocolatey.

I left the shop, never mind which one, with two eggs upon my smooth white hand.

I ran home as fast as my legs would allow whilst maintaining the appearance of a casually walking man with no place to be and no people to see. Once they were on my table there was just one more thing I needed...

...my spooning knife.

There she lay, a pandora's box of unknown treasures, a cocoon of disaster or chest of pleasure, an egg so plastic, with possibilties so drastic, that whatever she held could send me spastic.

Would I find a texbook example of the modern day rubbish Kinder Surprise toy or something refreshing, something nostalgic, something wonderful? I shouldn't have even bothered asking the question.

A disgrace to the once proud Kinder name. I didn't even bother opening the instructions. None of the charm of the olden day handpainted do nothing toys. A plastic monstrosity.

The next one came in a more yellow shade of yellow shell. Could this one redeem the last? Would I find an olden day, but fully working sub-atomic neutron plasma cannon that would take at least a minute to put together? Or at least have some stickers to attach?

It looked promising to say the least.

But I thought too soon. A missing piece, a chink in the armour, a fallen man in the phalanx, the smudgy piece of dna that turns a man of muscle into a puddle of flesh. If all of the pieces were there, that red thing was supposed to poke his head out when I pressed the button on top. Instead, I have a red blob looking at an oven.

To be continued...

Fishing For Worms

2007-05-17T20:16:00.000Z

If I said that door led to John Malkovich's head, you wouldn't believe me, because there's already been a film which uses a very similar idea. If I said that it led to the mind of former Manchester United and Ireland full-back Dennis Irwin, why would you doubt it? There's never been a film called Being Dennis Irwin. And as long as I keep this door to myself, there never will.

I stopped off at John's and caught him smoking a pen like a cigar. We've all done it. I informed him of my intentions to seek out worms and if I didn't to return I wanted him to never stop looking for me.

There were no worms to be had in John's room, the temperature was all wrong, there was too much sunlight and not enough soil. I ventured outside and saw a car with an open door.

Christ! They're all doing it. It's only a matter of time before someone says "Yeah, but I was leaving my door open before it was cool".

Reports that this is the infamous bridge which inspired the RHCP song "Under the Bridge" are frankly ridiculous.

Classic Ali; walking forwards, inhaling inwards.

People have criticised trees for struggling to become relevant in the 21st century, but say what you will, you'll never get an i-pod or hoverboard growing bigger than a house.

I was told that this was done by pigeons. I know pigeons, and they wouldn't do something like this.

My reflection, a sort of mirror image of myself.

That reminds me, once I finish my exams I should watch all three Lord of the Rings films in one sitting. Not because I want to, just because I can.

Rachel came to the door. Like most normal human beings she was not expecting to be photographed as she opened the door. It had an effect upon her face.

She claimed that she hadn't had a shower yet. I was more than happy to believe her, but she lifted her arms and demanded that I used my powerful sense of smell to confirm it.

Into the wilderness we went. I felt like just like Howard Carter, the only Egyptologist I know. But instead of exploring Egypt, I was exploring a Cardiff Garden.

Where to dig? Where to dig? Dig to where?

Now there was a place to dig if I ever did see one.

Maybe in your fancy pants army they would use a shovel, trowel or something else ending with 'el', but out here in the gritty urban real world we use sticks.

The best way to find the worms would be to go all Honey, I done Shrunk the Kids. Of course it wouldn't, those worms would eat us alive.

Worm ahoy!

First blood. He may not look like much, but he put up one hell of a fight.

Rachel adopted a traditional oriental style of worm fishing. A technique not disimilar to that of former world number one Xu "The Fish" Zang.

I'm not sure what the law has to say about worms. Who owns them? Maybe the Queen, like she does with all the swans. Whatever the case, I'm sure she'll be banging on my door trying to trade some of her swans for some of my worms once I've trained them up real nice.

A knee.

A worm, lol.

People say that worm fishing is a barbaric sport. They say it's un-natural. Then how can they explain this? A machine of nature designed specifically for the fishing of worms; a blunt end for digging and a sticky stick for picking.

What courage! What spirit! I haven't seen so much charisma in a worm since the great Donald "The Worm" The Worm. I name thee Donald in his honour.

It was time to pull out the secret weapon; moisture. Those bastard worms love the moisture. They can't get enough of the stuff.

Rachel began to assemble the worm tank, not a tank that fires worms, more of an aquarium without the aqua. And maybe the rium. I don't know, I'm not french.

From the age of one all you hear is "Don't put snails in a bowl with worms". If it's not being drilled into you in school, it's being burnt onto your arm by your junkie mother, but I'm just one man, a simple and petty man.

Nothing happened, so I let them free. I may be just one man, but I'm not a monster of a man.

FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

They didn't look like they were going to fight; fight in the way that god intended. It was as if god, or some higher being, took control of my arm and made me give mother nature a helping hand.

FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Boo. Bloody snails.

They tried to run away, but it was going to take more than brute speed for those snaily bastards to get out of my reach.

Once again god took control of my arm. I could feel his words flowing through my body, I could feel them in my soul. "Son, if the snails aint gonna fight like what I done made'em for, then ya gotta least make'em kiss, uh huh".

Now we were getting somewhere.

Romance was in the air. It was so thick that it made my eyes sting.

Dirty buggers.

Bloody showoffs.

Alas, he fell and broke his neck. That's the price you pay for showing off.

It was time to give up on the snails. We had lost our way. Our main objective was the worms and we should't have lost sight of that. Scoop, scoop the mud.

Grade A 100% pure Colombian cocaine, ladies and gentlemen... Disco shit... Pure as the driven snow. Nothing but the best for my worms.

You've got to push the soil down. It's the first rule of worm keeping. If you don't know why, you probably wouldn't understand if I told you.

Another scoop of mud, my dear? Sure, why not? I love mud.

Like a delicious cake. In the coming months my mind will play tricks on me. "Eat the cake" it will say, but I must never forget that it's just mud and worms.

I can't remember what I was going to say about this picture. It might come back to me.

Shit! We've run out of soil. No need to panic, there's lots of soil in the soil.

Mmmm, cake. Must eat cake.

The time came for the worms to enter their new home. In many ways this plastic box of mud is just like the bottled city of Kandor, but with more worms.

Our mission was complete. We patiently sat, waiting, dreaming and admiring.

Watching a box filled with mud and worms was a lot less exciting than I imagined, and so, I drew a penis on the wall.

This was the only big fat worm that was found. Big fat worms were ten a penny when I was a boy. Even though I'm still a boy, if only in the medical sense.

I went back to watching, waiting, wondering. When were they going to fight? Would they ever fight? I may have greatly over-estimated the power of worms.

There's only so long that you can stare at a bunch of worms before the calls of the beautiful people lure you back to the tv.

Rachel set about making a smoothie. In a few years time, when people start dropping dead from drinking smoothies, the government will finally step forward and say "Chin was right, it wasn't natural to have so much fruit in such a condensed space. It just wasn't safe to consume your five a day in one go. It goes against everything religion has ever taught us, it goes against science, it goes against common sense. How could we have been so stupid? Why didn't we listen?" But by then it will be too late.

If this was Cribs this fridge would be full of Scarface dvds.

Ha, Joey.

My job was done. I'd achieved everything I set out to do on this day, except for post a cheque, buy some cakes and revise for my exams.

Train

2007-04-26T20:11:00.000Z

I am Anthony Morcom.

I was born in 1985. In 1985 over 9,000 people died in an earthquake in Mexico City and Coca Cola changed to New Coke for just three months.

I live in Wales.

I am looking forward to Spider-Man 3.

I like Superman.

I like that old people don't run around in a panic at the thought of their not too distant death.

I like things that aren't supposed to smell, but have smells added onto them, like pens that smell.

I'd like to have a pet monkey one day or at least visit Monkey World.

I mostly listen to music by Elliott Smith, Regina Spektor and The Velvet Underground.

I like the idea of living in a futuristic world where everything is shiny and confusing and I can talk into my watch.

I'd like to go for a picnic in a field this year.

I like to think that all factories have horns that sound when the day is over like in all the cartoons.

I've just learnt how to play chess. The computer beats me most of the time, but I shouldn't be able to beat a computer anyway. A computer is much better suited to win at chess than me.

I'm trying to learn how to play the guitar, but I can't seem to work out how to do it.

I like watching The Wire. It is the best tv show ever made.

I am almost an Egyptology student.

I may have forgotten how to ride a bike. I won't know until I ride one.

I can't remember a lot of things.

I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

I'm not sure if I like living next to a train track.

I don't like sitting infront of a crying girl on the bus.

I never answer a ringing payphone when I walk past it. It's probably me calling from the future and I wouldn't know what to say.

I haven't climbed a tree for years. I don't know if I can do it.

I don't eat out in nice restaurants enough.

I never play football anymore.

I can't run for more than a minute without getting tired.

I don't know why people will stop and stare at a building being demolished for hours, but don't give one being built a second glance. People like destruction, I suppose.

I don't like people who spit through their teeth like a water pistol.

I am distressed at the chav to human ratio in Swansea.

I'm probably going to get a very bad mark in my degree.

But it could be worse.

I Quite Like Mondays

2007-03-27T14:46:00.000Z

I began my day by looking at a car from the Olden Days, the days when a car like that would have had you knee deep in vagina.

First stop, this house, the one with the red door. Where everybody knows my name, but not my real name.

Using an anti-lock key I opened the door. Would I catch the three inhabitants in the middle of some sick and twisted sex dance? It's a thought that enters my mind everyday.

Ali was in the kitchen making a lasagne food. There it is.

I often use this mug. It's not the best mug they have, because they have some very good mugs, to be fair. It's not often that you will find a home with such a rich and diverse collection of drinking plates.

Ali washed some dishes and we discussed Lost, and how it has become quite brilliant again. It really has, but it's no The Wire.

I went to check on Evan to make sure he hadn't hung himself overnight after a freak wanking accident. It's a thought that enters my mind everytime I knock on his door.

A photo of a wall area.

A plan was hatched, we were to go to Lidl to buy Jelly Beans. I didn't have the heart to tell him it was summer and no jumper was required.

Evan gave Ali some cheese. To those who say that these journals are nothing but brilliantly scripted and staged events; I spit upon you.

In the spirit of the cheese giving, Evan used his nose to smell some cheese, like that thing kids do when they say "smell my cheese", then beat you until not even your own mother recognises you.

There's nothing like a nice relaxing cup of cheese while you're chatting away on the phone.

That's my Mallrats. It belongs to me. Did you know that I consider it to be the only good Kevin Smith film?

We set off on our journey, our quest, our voyage, our late afternoon stroll for jelly beans.

Even when a nuke has gone off in Cardiff, Jimmy "One Leg" Lewis doesn't pick up his leisurely pace.

I give you my word as 19th century English gentleman that he has two eyes.

What's all that racket? Ha, racket.

If I sold heroin for a living, I'd do it down there.

If I sexed kids for a living, I'd do it in there.

If I wanted to sell heroin to kids for living I'd do it from there.

It's not often that shops get sequels, because they rarely live up to the original.

Open and closed at the same time. Something doesn't add up. This inattention to detail by the shop owner has led me to believe that this business is nothing more than a front for something sinister. I believe I will be going to Cool House this very Saturday.

How very tragic. At least they're together now, in heaven. Unless, they aren't. It's hard to tell, but just by looking at the body language I'd say that the dad was one hell of a drunk. He probably used alcohol to cope with the fact that he was shorter than his wife. He'd beat her for it, and by looking at the distance between the father and son, I'd say that the mother was protecting her child from a beating too. In conclusion, this is a textbook example of a husband with an inferiority complex killing his wife and son and then himself. Case closed.

In case you weren't quite sure if that's cheap; it is.

An excellent cereal.

Like a kid who grew too fast in the sweet section of a supermarket; the "kid in sweet shop" for the Tarrant On Tv Generation.

These are the things that I bought. Look at them well, because there'll be a quiz afterwards*.

That woman sure does love to shit. I asked her why and she said "I dunno, I just love it".

Evan's mouth had never been blessed with nougat pillows, so I told him to eat some, but not before they had time to soften in the milk. Never before.

He said that they were good, but I think he may have just been saying that to not disappoint me. I guess we'll never know.

Takeshi's Castle. It raises a lot of questions about humanity. Most importantly; why?

I went to find Old Man Dunster. We call him that because he has the crooked back of an old man. He probably hates it.

We played some Pro Evo 6 as a team. We managed to get a point as Italy against France. We've yet to gel as a team, I think it's because he disapproves of my shooting from 45 yards all the time. But I always tell him "You've got to shoot to score". He thinks that we can win every match by playing down the wings.

On this particular occasion John chose chicken.

People often believe that the television was created by John Logie Baird, but Bill Lawrence thinks otherwise.

John ate some pizza. Ha, racket.

Look! It's me! Gooooooooooooo Yankees!

After many things happened, I found myself sitting in a pub. John says he likes drinking from bottles because it makes him feel like he's sucking a penis. Evan says he likes drinking from a pint glass because it feels like he's chewing on Goatse's arse.

After more things happened, I found myself in Q Bar. I much prefer taking photos of people taking photos of people than taking photos of people posing for a photo, it highlights how silly and fake the posing for photo thing really is. I guess people had to do it back in the day because it took hours to take the photo, so you had to sit still, but this isn't back in the day anymore. If we can put a man on the moon we can stop standing still for photos.

Gambler's Corner, right next to Crack Addict Cove.

After a few more things happened, I found myself queueing for close to an hour to get into Tiger Tiger, even though I was in the VIP line. It made me feel like a bloody non-important person. Half these people didn't even have web site, for crying out loud. I did get to watch a bouncer do that thing that bouncers do where they make the most of being allowed to act like a thug and king of the world to someone in the queue. Is there a less likeable profession? It's doubtful. I'm pretty sure that because 99% of the world are not bouncers we should be able to come up with some sort of way to not be treated like bastards. We've got GCSEs, for crying out loud.

Hell of a body on him. I'm not jealous, he put the work in and he deserves it. I'd rather have a terrible body such as my own than have to spend most of my day standing up and doing things.

When you've got such a rockin' manly body you can get away with wearing a girl's bag.

I pretended to be sad. I wasn't pretending to be yellow. Look at how yellow I am. It's quite concerning.

Rachel was there. She always puts her hand up before she speaks to me. It's too formal, but it makes me feel important.

Oh dear. I don't know what I'm doing with my face, just looking at it makes me cringe. I can only assume that it was an attempt at some sort of cool man face, but I look like a fucking cunt bastard. Oh dear. That's Amy, it was her birthday, her only one of the year.

Before I knew it I was getting food and looking at a mirror.

Chicken burger and chips.

Amy and I compared scars, like in Lethal Weapon, but without the sex and without Mel Gibson. My scar is better.

John and Amy did some looking at each other.

The best thing about kebab shops being run by foreign people is the executions. Because of their religion or something it's customary to decapitate a member of staff if they get your change wrong, because it counts as stealing. In a way it's quite sad, but it's hard not to get caught up in the orgy of cheering and waving as the head hits the floor.

After some more things happened I woke up asleep in my bed listening to Miss Misery by Elliott Smith. All in all, the night was full of non-bad times and I was drunk enough to make the room spin. I've just realised after looking at that photo that is pretty much how I'll look when I'm dead. Now I'm all distressed. I don't want to die, you see.

*Quiz may not be included.

Internet Meet Up

2007-03-12T21:42:00.000Z

Once again I set off to disregard everything that every American tea-time drama had ever taught me; I was on a journey to meet strangers from the internet. Don't try this at home.

People often forget about the light-hearted side of war; the kids on tanks.

In a bid to turn attention away from her hideously tall body this woman wore bright and strange clothing. It fooled no-one, we all knew she was tall. A tall and grotesque specimen of humanity.

Did you know that I've never arrived at this set of lights without the man being green? That's not a lie, it really is always green. I can't help but feel that one day these lights will somehow bring about my premature death.

Take this Welsh, stick it in your pipe, light it, smoke it and forget it. You'll never need to use it.

I entered into a battle of minds, will and moral fibre with this man. He wanted me to sign up for crazy student things, but I didn't buckle. I'm barely a student, let alone crazy. Sadly he got the final punch in by giving me the most expensive ticket. You really do have to say cheapest ticket these days otherwise they fuck you over. I was paying £13 a day to get to Swansea on the train when I first moved to Cardiff, because they don't care to mention that there a £4.90 return ticket. It's greed gone mad.

Here's my ticket. The bus driver wouldn't accept it, so I had to get a boarding pass. It was at this point that I realised that all of my photos were coming out blue, because I had messed around with the white balance like a modern day Steven Spielberg.

I arrived in Newport and caught in my camera's vision the biggest waste of bridge I've ever seen. There can not be one sensible reason for that big white monstrosity.

I don't know what that red thing and this is only speculation, but I don't see how that thing is not a desperate attempt at aStargate. Typical Newport, if it doesn't say "Don't try this at home" at the start of the programme you can guarantee that they'll try it at home.

I got to reading. Superman For All Seasons. It's very good. I believe it's what inspired the Smallville tv show.

I don't know if I like Tim Sale's art. It's good for the rural Smallville stuff. He does all of the paintings in Heroes, the ones by Isaac the heroin man. Now that I think about it, I've only just realised that of all the drugs they could have picked
they chose heroin because it sounds like heroine. Jeph Loeb, the writer, also writes some of Heroes. God bless Heroes.

I finished For All Seasons and went straight into Kingdom Come like a madman. God bless Kingdom Come, one of the greatest things your eyes could ever see.

What a face! I don't know if I'd ever change my face if I could. It's not a very good one, but it almost does the job.

Phew.

I pranced around Victoria tube station breathing in the people like a fish breathes in water.

After many things happened, such as going to a pub with a tree in it, I finally arrived at the right pub. Nobody told me that they'd changed pubs. They hate me, you see. Anyway, I got into the right pub and saw a big fan.

And the people who write the fan-journals. Ha, suckers.

As part of a long and drawn out practical joke Burt inflated a Whoopi Goldberg cushion.

And planted it under Maru's sitting seat.

I began to drink pints of Stella and before I knew it I was wearing sunglasses. Indoors!

Rocko got her passport out to show us her photo with claims and cries of "I wasn't a prostitute when I was younger". People make mistakes and I'm not one for judging. I do not judge.

Soon I had jewels on my fingers like a princess. Or a Chincess, if you like. Ha, chincess.

Chaino began to blow bubbles. Yes, there are jokes about Michael Jackson to be made, but the guy's been through a lot, give him a break, for christ's sake. And Chaino's nothing like Michael Jackson anyway.

Then Chaino started sticking chocolate buttons to his face to make himself brown. See, the exact opposite of Michael Jackson. Now let's stop talking about Michael Jackson, please, he's had a rough time and doesn't need the likes of you making things worse. Chaino is nothing like Michael Jackson.

Can Michael Jackson lick his own elbow? No, of course not.

I took a photo of a photo in case the original photo became destroyed in a fire.

There were claims that my ear had become completely transparent like glass or water, or to a lesser extent, a glass of water. I doubt it had and I was undergoing a series a practical jokes and/or suicide enducing bullying.

Kingo drank some Guiness, black Guiness as black as his soul.

A few days ago I was thinking about my wrist and how I would like to wear something on it, something less practical than a watch, but more useful than a scar, maybe something like this. I now had a chance to try it out.

The mirror in the toilets were suspiciously similar to how I imagine mirrors in the year 2097.

We left the pub at something o'clock and went to a money house.

Calpol did some stealing in the background and Rocko did some facing in the foreground.

After what seemed like one thousand English winters we finally got a table, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough, I tell you.

There were many things available for eating. If I had lost my mind I would have ordered the fish lip and duck web. The menu didn't really come in the style of a Star Wars intro, it's just the angle.

The food came, arrived and appeared all at once. I had chicken with some sort of chilli thing. Quite hilariously something I ate was so hot that I had never experienced something so hot before and thought that I was dying.

The oranges came. God bless the oranges. There were enough oranges to have too many oranges left over after everyone who wished to eat an orange had eaten some orange.

People with the ability to retain information in memory form will recall that I said that they gave us a table, but it wasn't enough. This was the short and long term solution, an extra table joined on. Like some sort of hooligan I accidentally smashed that wine glass, because my hands were drunk. The waitress told me to "be careful". The more I think about it the more I think that may be the best advice I have ever been given. I'm sure she was only talking specifically about me breaking the rest of the glasses, so I don't want to give her too much credit, but "be careful" can be applied to so many things in my life; crossing roads, reheating chicken, sharing needles. It's like she saw into my soul.

There's surely some joke to be made about the Godfather or gumshields or something. If anything I'm spoilt for choice. Too spoilt. So it's my web site and I'm not going to say anything, because I can do whatever I want.

Bloody sunglasses indoors again like a madman.

The bill came and I honestly can't remember if I paid. Knowing my mind I'd say that there's a 99.9% chance that I would have. The money had definitely gone from my wallet, but I may have given it to a homeless. Knowing my mind I'd say that I probably killed that homeless.

We left. Left the restaurant. Which one? This one. Looking back on the whole affair I said the word Chinaman 400 times, which was probably a bit excessive.

We set off on our journey, but Deatho stopped to buy some tobacco-batons.

I was told to hold this. Luckily I didn't smoke it, because I don't smoke.

We got on the bus, but this this one. Oh, not this one.

Deatho drank some Diet Coke. He does that.

We arrived in Bethnal Green. I won't tell you which number out of respect for Burt.

Immediately we broke into rival factions, the music makers and the music haters.

We practiced for an hour or two, familiarising ourselves with the recording equipment and various instruments. We were not confined to just traditional instruments and, if anything, the instruments just held us back.

And so it began, we set about recording the EP. I played the guitar on all the tracks except "Sitting Down" it was this track that I brought out a traditional Star Wars background on the Keyboard whilst Deatho played the guitar. Vocals and Keyboarding on the other tracks came from Chaino and Rocko whilst Burt engineered the whole thing. In many ways I don't know how to play the guitar and I'd never played an electric one before, so I was fairly surprised when I discovered that I was the greatest guitarist of all time, even though I'd always suspected it.

Three of the songs can be heard here: http://www.myspace.com/theanimatedlovemonkeys

I slept my head at around six and when I opened my eyes again it was half eleven in the morning and many people had fled for their lives, such was their fear of the music. Burt, Chaino and I set off in search of eating food.

We had every reason to believe that such food could be bought in this place, even though the eggs in the menu photos appeared to be photoshopped on.

If there's a better metaphor for my life than a cup of tea then I don't wanna hear it.

They gave us enough toast to feed a thousand kings.

I didn't order from the set menu, because that's not how I roll. I used my deep understanding of my own personal tastes to select what I believed my body and brain wanted to eat.

Look, mom! All gone! Whadya want? A medal? Ged oudda here.

We went to a very strange market place. I'd never quite seen anything like it. Some of the street signs weren't even in English.

I left Burt and Chaino and went exploring. I discovered this thing. Whether or not I was the first person to ever find it I cannot say.

Not all of it, my dear. Not all of it.

There's actually a real life bear inside that suit. The shop owner said he wasn't a "convincing or believable" bear. I suppose he was right. Bears rarely look like bears in real life.

Like a tourist.... On acid! I pretended to be a tourist and took a tourist photo.

Early studies suggesting that Egypt was originally overun and possibly ruled by a species of giant cat have been widely discredited in recent years.

If there's one thing I hate looking at more than statues it's fucking pottery.

I don't know much about art, but I know what I like.

Bloody hell, you'd think someone would have cleaned that up by now. If I had to guess I'd say the butler did it.

Now there's a man who has just done ten pills if I've ever seen one.

I won't lie to you, I have no problem with decorative palettes.

Imagine living out your death being constantly gawped at by Chinamen from China. That's no life for anyone.

To be honest, I'm pretty sure that the British Musuem is quite rubbish. I haven't seen all of it, because I always run out of time, but you know something's not right when your favourite bit is the big white entrance hall. It's so big and white.

Jump! Jump! Jump!

They didn't jump. I ran away to Victoria Coach Station. Many people pestered me when I was sitting down waiting for the coach. "Can I have your travel card?" they'd cry, each one more foreign than the last. I like giving my travelcard away, because it's the closest I'll ever come to buying crack. Anyway, I went back to reading Kingdom Come. It's very pretty and has Superman with a beard. What more could anyone ask for? Travelcards, I guess.

This seems as good as place as any to end. Even though all sorts of stuff may or may not have happened afterwards. All I can be sure of is I got home and didn't have a kebab pizza.

Rocko

2007-02-23T12:03:00.000Z

Here is my kitchen as viewed from my sofa:

And here is my sofa as viewed from my kitchen (yes. My flat is huge)

Here is me as viewed from my kitchen. I am sucking my belly in. Just for you:

I turn around and lo! Many, many shoes:

I turn around again and look into my minging bathroom:

Next door and here is the room that my bed lives in:

And ta da! I am in bed. Look, there is my foot.

Kingcanary

2007-02-23T11:34:00.000Z

Here's my trip to Norn. I had an excellent time as always.

No pics form the friday night. The flight was on time and Babrs picked me up, back to her flat and then out to the pub across the road and drank booze and yabbered away catching up blah blah.

Next day, gorgeous weather and she took me up to the North coast where I demanded we see Giant's causeway. I've always wanted to go there and I now I have.

Here's me there

Pretty scenic ones

Ones from very, very high up

Barbs on the funny stones

Then we went to a rope bridge thing that went across to a funny little island. I paid 1 British pound to prove I had done it. Before that I there was a plaque for this man. How quaint.

The rope bridge

Then once we were ont he island I knocked Barbs to the ground with one punch

We drove to Port Stewart via PortRush where I was able to view Kelly's and imagine Chaino bouncing up and down "pumped to the max". In Port Stewrat we had chips and yabbered some more. As we drove out of Port Swtewart Barbs said it was famous for presbytarian couples courting on the promanade on a sunday night and boyr racers. She also said it was famous for one more thing before pointing at a house just off the sea front where she announced her cherry had been popped. Then we drove to Coleraine as this took us back to Belfast. I kept checking my phone to see if CHaino had got my PM but he hadn't replied. As we drove through the middle of Coleraine I shouted "Chaino" out the window several times but he never answered me.

Here's Coleraine lesiure centre - Chaino was proabbly working out in there

I slept all the way home in the car because I could. I awoke once for a piss and that was it. Back at Barbs I received a text message form CHaino that broke my heart. He couldn't come through to Belfats but what really broke my heart was that if I had received it a little bit earlier we would probably have been making love to each other frantically in his bed in Coleraine.

Back at Barbs we went to bed for a couple of hours for some well earned rest before arising refreshed. I was ready in approx 10 mins. She fucking wasn't as she's a woman so I drank red wine for an hour with Chaino. Look at us raising our glasses to each other.

Then we went into town to the cathedral district. it was fucking heaving and everywhere so I got angry and demanded we go somewhere a bit more chilled. We went to Tatu near her flat. It had a bar/club thing at the front and a really nice chill out room towards the back. So we sat and drank gin and yabbereed more and took pictures with my phone

The today we woke nice and late and went for a late breakfast where I stuffed my face. Off to the airport andf then back home.

Here are some of the things I brought back to put on my memory shelf:

Millie

2007-02-23T11:24:00.000Z

In the spirit of starting, I put on my new shoes. I would later regret this when my heels were bleeding. I also put on my coat. You can see a bit of it. It am green.

Then, I shut and locked my door. Fella and I live at number 7. Behind the camera lies Flat 8, home to Johnny the Drunken Social Worker. He is nice and plays his music very loud.

Next, I got in the lift. I normally take the stairs, but I decided to take a photo of me taking a photo of me in the mirror in the lift. Then I realised I looked like shit, so I bottled it. This lift talks to you. Soon he will say "Ground Floor".

This is the outside of my block of flats. It looks nicer further up, but at this point my phone rang and photo-taking became trickier.

Next I walked along, still talking on the phone. I walked to the nearby shoppy street and went into WHSmiths to buy some envelopes. The phone and my embarrassment meant that I did not take good shop pictures.

Look at the blurry child. Is he stealing? No.

This is what the shoppy street looks like. It is quite full of the local nutters. Or Service Users as we now have to call them. No nutters are visible in this picture.

I am walking up a road. I am still on the phone.

I stop to show you all what my thumb now looks like, in the cold light of day. That's right, disgusting. I am no longer on the phone.

I have to go and see my boss's boss to tell her I am ok to go back to work tomorrow. Which is now today. She was visiting the Community Learning Disability Team, who are based above Kwik-Fit and Tesco Express. Nothing but the best for our Health Professionals.

I have seen her. I did not take her picture. I also did not accept the offer of a cup of tea and a chat. She is lovely. I am walking down another road. It runs parallel to the last one. Fact.

I have turned left and am nearly at the bus stop. I will be pausing here until the bus comes. The man at the bus stop stared at me the whole time.

Thank fuck the bus is here. I will sit far, far away from The Staring Man.

The Staring Man sits downstairs. I go upstairs. Result! The top deck is empty like a motherfucker.

Because I am a child I sit at the front. I do not pretend to drive, because there is a camera and the driver can see me.

Welcome to the Seven Dials area of Brighton. Cooper King has spent New Year somewhere around here.

This is the back of Brighton Station. And some of Brighton.

This is more of Brighton. It is hilly like a bitch.

Look! The front of Brighton Station. I could get off here and walk up the hill, but I am a lazy cunt, so I don't.

If you squint, you can see the sea at the end of this road.

I turn left though and get off the bus a stop early, because some young blokes are manhandling a lairy old tramp outside the sex shop and I want a photo. Unfortunately the bus took ages to get to the stop and they had all gone by the time I got off, so I didn't bother. Look! There goes my bus.

This is my friend's scary looking house. I spend half an hour on the doorstep because I am on the phone again and I don't want to be on the phone in someone else's house. That would be rude. I got a cold bum.

Here is my friend's living room. I like that painting, but not many people do. We drank wine until Fella came round to take me to another friend's house.

It is now dark and raining and I do not take any more photos until we get to the other friend's house. We have vegetable stew and more wine. I take no more photos, because my battery packed in. Bastard. Here is my friend's living room. She is a student.

Horsey

2007-02-23T00:30:00.000Z

Flat pack furniture is not a favourite of mine. My aim is to make this the most boring photojournal to present date.

Here are all the pieces.

I take all the pieces out of the plastic packaging

and insert the thin pole inside the thick pole. Look how shiny it is!

I screw the poles into the bit at the side.

Tada!! One pole down only three more to go.

Whoops, I forgot to put those black plastic bits on there. I am such a woman!

I tighten the screws with the allen key provided.

Voila. One fully assembled shoe rack.

Chaino

2007-02-22T17:40:00.000Z

So I set about trying to find the picture. It wasn't in the living room.

It wasn't in the kitchen.

There it is! On the wall of all places.

It only looks small because I am so massive. Right Chaino, stop loving it now, your guests are arriving.

Okay Flatmate, you aren't a guest but there's no need to give me the fingers. Nice to see your friend dressed for the occasion.

Look! Four whole people! My, I am popular.

Hmm. Two shifty blondes. I think they brought a ghost who disappeared down the side of the sofa.

Wow that's ten people now. And one of them's diddies are massive.

And number 11 brings a touch of class to the proceedings by drinking Buckfast straight from the bottle.

So we head to a club and on the way I meet a cheerful policewoman.

And the coatcheck girl is cheerful too.

And the barmaid is cheerful too. They know it is my birthday. Everyone loves me.

The club is quite tiny and rather busy. Probably, because it is my birthday.

But there is still room for some of the girls to do a dance for me. For my birthday.

Aha! There are some other friends. For one CRAZY second I believed they had forgotten that it was my birthday.

Another one, excellent, less birthday forgetters to venge upon.

The girl in the pink really likes having her picture taken. The other birthday rememberer does not.

Haha! I haven't seen you since GCSE Maths class 12 years ago!

But sadly you were not here because it was my birthday so I poisoned you.

Everyone is so happy!

Too happy. They're happy because I'm a year closer to the grave, aren't they?

I'll show them. Care to french kiss the birthday boy so as he can secretly tongue a roofie into your too-happy-mouth?

Now I am happy too, because I know what these fucks have in store.

Flatmate is also happy because I let him in on my little trick.

Oh they're getting sadder!

Haha! So sad, I mock you with my mimicry!

Everyone is comatose and we smile at the prospect of the bummings ahoy.

The girls are now dead in the bin. We still have to punish the boys. Sex is out of the question, so we just dryhump them through a duvet.

Flatmate is exhausted. Bless. It was a lot of hideous sex for one so young.

I treat myself to a celebratory fag with a bow on it.

THE END

Helen

2007-02-22T17:11:00.000Z

The following journal was written by Helen, a real life girl from London, England. Helen hates The Strokes, but I would still like to have sex with her.

I wake up in the afternoon. My cat, Minningtonminnieminminmin, is writhing around flirtatiously on my duvet.

I am in my pyjamas. I take off my pyjamas. I put on a top. It is thin and wrinkly, and I am cold. My breasts have not grown overnight.

So I brush my hair and put on a lovely furry jumper.

My torso is now toasty warm. My feets, however, are shivering and cold. So I dress them. I cannot find matching socks. What is the world coming to?!

I decide to find an excuse to go out and contribute to this thread. But I am as yet too sleepy and afraid to go outside, so I wander around the house for a spell. My garden is very messy.

I reconsider going outside; it seems very hostile. I look in the fridge,

It is empty. I look in the cupboard,

It is also empty. I decide to leave my hovel and search for food. First, though, I see some pretty snowdrops in the garden.

My heart skips a beat. What if I have no money?! I think. Then I would be forced to eat lettuce and beans. Fortunately, though, I have money.

I open the door.

I see a skip across the road containing a telly and some stuff. The people in that house are criminals.

I walk to the end of my road. It looks smaller in real life.

I turn right at the end of my road. There is a postperson ahead of me; I think she was female.

This used to be my favourite graffitti ever. Then some modern, twatty, unimaginative vandals drew their stupid 'tags' all over it and the modern unimaginative twats at Lambeth Council painted it white.

A Subaru. It reminds me of that Moldy Peaches song.

I go up the road to a cafe I have never visited. The owner of that yellow arm gives me a funny look. He thinks I am photographing him, but I am not! Egotist.

It sounds like a disease!

This person said "Jesus loves you" to me as he passed. I thought it was nice.

I got to the cafe and it looked scummy, so I went back down the road to the shop.

I bought various meat-flavoured products.

On the way back I see some Space [s]Invaders[/s] Raiders nestling against somebody's front steps. They look forlorn.

Chris Morris's house! Every time I pass it I silently rehearse what I would say to him if he came out. (I would say "Hi...are you Chris Morris? Oh, I, er, I really admire your work. [enchanting smile, walk away]"

It now begins to rain. I take no more photos until I get inside and begin making the soup. I do not have an 850 Watt Microwave! What to do?!

I overcome this hurdle, somehow, and sit down in front of the TV to a nice relaxing luncheon.

When she lived in Brazil, our cleaner was a history teacher. Now she arranges the remote controls of middle class British families into tidy fans.

the end.

Coffee and Sandwiches

2007-02-22T00:58:00.000Z

This photo-journal was made by John Griffiths (Cooper King(Coop(Old Coopy))). It was the first photo-journal ever made in the world. He plans on running a half marathon in the near future.

So, what people should do, to prove they go out, is document a trip somewhere. It can be very boring. As mine is. Mine concluded with me drinking coffee at my computer, and typing on the messageboard.

but wait, I'm getting way ahead of myself. How did it start? Well, it started with me being hungry and in need of caffeine, and searching around my room for money. Here's what I found...

It was just over £5 worth, so I left my house...

Turned the corner and went down the street...

Then turned the corner again and onto the big main road...

Walking until I got the coffee shop...

Here my photos get a bit rubbish, because I got self-conscious and tried to pretend I was texting. Anyway, I looked at the menu which is stuck on the counter...

And ordered a latte and a toasted serrano ham, onion, goats cheese and olive sandwich. It's ridiculous but true. It's actually amazingly good. It cost just over £5 in total. I have no sense of the true cost of things. But anyway...

I waited for a while, while it was made...

And then I left the shop with the goods...

On my way back, I saw some people painting a shop sign....

... a little old lady...

... and God...

Then I came back into the house, sat down where I'm sitting right now, and drank and ate...

THE END.

To find out more about Cooper King visit www.cooperking.co.uk

Fan Journals

2007-02-22T00:43:00.000Z

Cementium

Coffee and Sandwiches

Helen's Hunt For Sausage (Rolls)

Birthday Time (The Time of Birthdays)

DIY

A Journey Which Ends With Vegetable Stew (Spoiler Alert)

An Island Called Ireland

A Tour Of A Flat By A Person Who No Longer Lives In The Flat That Is Being Toured